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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26449576">She Came from the Water</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteattheappleshook/pseuds/donteattheappleshook'>donteattheappleshook</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captain Swan AU - Freeform, Captain Swan Movie AU, Captain Swan Movie Marathon Event (Once Upon a Time), F/M, I'm just really into colin ferrell and this movie okay, ondine - Freeform, so many captain swan feels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:16:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26449576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteattheappleshook/pseuds/donteattheappleshook</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Between his dissatisfying job, a constant battle to keep seeing his daughter, and a history of mistakes, losses, and broken dreams, Killian Jones has no place for magic in his life. But when he pulls in his fishing nets one evening only to find a woman caught in them, his life becomes infinitely more complicated. Is she a siren, a selkie, like his daughter believes, or just another lost soul like himself? Suddenly, his life is a thing of fairytales; beautiful women hidden away in cottages, selkie husbands coming back to claim them, and, just maybe, a chance at happily ever after. </p>
<p>A Captain Swan AU based on the film Ondine (2009) for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Captain Swan Movie Marathon</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge, gigantic, enormous, (I wish I had more synonyms), amazingly big thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for her amazing work and help as beta for this fic. Thanks for putting up with all my last minute writing and procrastination. You're a superhero.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Killian shivers. He’s cold. Cold and damp - the kind of damp that sinks into his bones and chills him so much that he thinks he’ll never feel warm again - the kind that shakes him from the inside no matter how many layers or jumpers he wears. It’s grey today. It’s always grey, the clouds blanketing the sky and a constant drizzle mixing in with the water splashing off the side of the boat. Not a ship - a boat. That’s what it is. Maybe once he’d dreamed of being on a ship, of sailing around the world, of feeling the ocean air and the sun on his face rather than the wind and the wetness that turns the bits of water in his beard to ice on the particularly cold days. He’d had a lot of dreams once, but one after the other those had slowly slipped away, one mistake after another, one drink after another, one death after another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even now he wishes he had a bottle with him, one that would warm his blood and make the hours passing more bearable. But the trade off isn’t worth it. That’s what he tells himself anyway - every day for the last seven years. He shakes his head and then his hands that still hold that slight tremor after all this time and tries to focus on the task at hand. That’s the problem with this line of work: too much time alone staring out at the grey sky and the grey sea. Too much time to let melancholy in and to let hope slip away until his thoughts match the horizon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugs his knit cap down further over his ears and rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the wet and the sleep and the boredom from them as he tries to focus on the water, to spot his traps among the dozens that litter the surface. He hasn’t caught lobster in weeks but still he checks them every day. He hasn’t caught much of anything in weeks, really. That’s the other problem with choosing fishing as a line of work. One bad day, one bad week can mean the difference between keeping the lights on in his dingy little cottage, or spending another night huddled up by the old wood fireplace trying to dry the cold that seems to live under his skin. And Killian’s had many bad weeks now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls up the first trap, wincing as his fingers brush the icy surface. It’ll be winter soon - not that summer lasts very long on this little island. They get three, maybe four weeks of sunshine if they’re lucky, the rain giving just enough respite for the grassy noles to be overrun by flowers and birds before they skitter back off into their hiding places and the world goes back to the usual grey and faded green landscape he’s spent his whole life in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was always his mother’s favorite time of year. It had been his too when he was a child but now he hates it - hates how it teases of warmth and happy days that are here to stay before it rips it away and plunges him back into the reality of his life. When she left, she took his love of sunny days with her. He wishes he hadn’t been born here - wishes he hadn’t been born at all most days - wishes he hadn’t stayed, that he’d left when he’d had the chance. He wants to leave now. But he can’t leave. Alice is here. And wherever she is is where he will be. Always. Even if that place is a miserable, damp, cold island off the coast of nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trap is empty. So is the next one, and the one after that. He swears under his breath though there's no reason to. It’s not like there was anyone who could hear him this far out on the water. He looks out at the vastness before him and thinks, as he does every day, about pointing his little boat in one direction and floating off until he can’t go any further. Maybe he’d find somewhere better, maybe he’d die out there. It brings a small smile to his face even as he throws the last empty trap back into the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing back the layers of wool and nylon on his wrist, he wipes the droplets from the face of his old, scuffed watch. It’s getting late. The sun will be going down soon and it isn’t safe to be out on the water at night. He smiles a little again. Alice would insist it’s because that’s when the sea creatures come to life, mermaids and sirens looking to lure nice fishermen like him to a watery grave - he doesn’t want to ask where she learned the term ‘watery grave’. In reality, it’s the roughness of the waves, the lack of guiding lights, and the rocky shores of the island. Sometimes, he prefers Alice’s version. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light is dimming from the sky, turning it from the pale grey of daytime to the foggy grey of twilight. He needs to get to the fishery and turn in his meager catches before they close. He sets about pulling up his nets, switching the lever and watching, listening to the familiar wiring sound of the mechanism as it slowly rolls the net in, out of the dark water. But, as more and more of it is pulled up, Killian grows more discouraged, its weight clearly light and therefore, likely empty - or mostly empty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls his hat off his head in frustration and runs a hand through his too-long hair. He can’t afford another bad day. He’s nearing the end of his meager savings and if he was ever going to have any hope of getting custody - Killian freezes. The hand that’s been rubbing at the back of his neck stops as his skin turns icy under his touch. He feels the blood drain from his face and settle in his stomach as dread washes over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand. There’s a hand reaching out of the water, pale and nearly blue with cold or - Killian doesn’t want to think it - death. He watches, unable to move for fear of his legs giving out from under him, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. He watches as more pale skin is exposed, the fingers tangled in the netting, as though they’d been clutching at the rope at some point and Killian has a horrific vision of someone being dragged along underwater after his boat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clanking sound of the engine coming to a sharp halt when the net is fully reeled in, is drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears as the body inside jolts lifelessly. It’s a woman. He can see the narrow shoulders and slight frame curled up in the bottom of the net. The thin dress she wears is soaked through, exposing more blue skin, raw from salt and cold. Her light hair sticks to her face and shoulders in wet ropes and hides her eyes from his view. Killian doesn’t know how, but he can tell she’d been under the waves for a long time. Too long for someone to have survived. He’s glad he can’t see her face. He’s seen enough dead, expressionless eyes in his lifetime. He doesn’t need to see any more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What’s he supposed to do? Call the police? Bring her into shore? There hadn’t been a training day for this - on what to do if you find a dead body in the water. How had she gotten here? She looks young and healthy. Had she been killed? Had she swam out too far and drowned? Gotten caught in the undertow? Had she drowned herself? More and more horrific, unwelcome images flash through his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fingers in the net twitch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh bloody hell,” he gasps. “You’re alive!” Killian nearly trips over his own feet in his desperate attempt to rush across the deck and pull the net over the side of the boat. His shaking fingers numb as he struggles to loosen the knot at the bottom that opens the net. He swears again when it won’t come loose and then once more in relief when it finally does. He tries his best to catch her, to prevent her body from falling the few feet to the hard wood of the deck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He manages to soften the blow to her head by placing a hand under it, hunches over her, holding her lips up to his ear to listen for breath and then pressing his ear to her chest when there isn’t any. He waits. There’s a moment before he hears it, a faint, weak heartbeat. She’s alive. He lowers her down onto the floor among the few fish that had been caught along with her in the net. Taking a deep breath and hoping to god he’s remembering this right, he covers her mouth with his own, releasing the breath into her lungs. He does it twice more before jerking back as her whole body convulses beneath him, coughing violently as water forces its way out of her lungs. Sitting her up frantically, he presses his chest to her back and pulls his fists in against her diaphragm. She coughs again, spitting more water onto the deck and gasping desperately for air. Finally, her eyes open and she looks around in panic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” she demands between heaving, ragged breaths. Her voice rough like she’d swallowed sand along with the salt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly as she continued coughing and gasping, retching on her hands and knees. “I - I think you drowned.” Bloody hell. He did it. She’s alive. He did it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel her pulling away from him and he doesn’t let her go quickly enough. He feels her elbow collide with his stomach and gasps, doubling over and watching as she crawls across the deck and puts her back up against the edge of the boat. She looks at him with panicked eyes, darting around to take in her surroundings despite the fact that she can still barely hold her head up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where. Am. I?” she asks, each word a struggle to push through her raw throat but he can hear her accent. American. She’s a long way from home. He waits until he has his breath back to answer, still holding his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re on my boat,” he answers slowly, afraid to scare her any more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who. Are. You?” she demands warily. He can see the fear in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian. My name’s Killian. I pulled you up in my net.” He gestures weakly at the net he’d hauled her out of not five minutes ago. She looks to the mesh and then back at him, her breathing still ragged and panting but more from the prolonged lack of oxygen than from her panic now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I died,” she whispers and the way she met his eyes he feels like she was asking him to confirm it, like she can’t understand how she’s sitting in front of him now with air in her lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” he concedes. “But you’re alive now. You’re safe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” she asks, the doubt still in her eyes and it makes him pause. He doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why life like the sea swallows some people up and spits others out. Why it swallowed his mother and Liam but refused to take him or his father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe the land’s not done with you yet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits as she watches him wearily for a moment before finally nodding her head. As her breathing settles, he notices the goosebumps start to spread over her skin and the shivers wrack her body as the wind whips at her thin dress. She’s soaked through and her skin is still far too blue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrugging out of his heavy rain jacket, he stands and crosses the space between them, hesitating when she flinches and then continuing when she calms. He kneels before her, draping the jacket over her shoulders and wrapping it tightly around her, rubbing at her arms to try and bring some warmth to her icy skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something he can’t place washes over her and she looks out over the edge of the boat, avoiding his eyes, before answering. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You lost your memory in the water?” he asks, trying to get a look at her head to check for blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” she says, pulling the jacket tighter around herself as more shivers wrack her body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian nods, not sure he believes her but there are more pressing issues than her memory. Like the fact that she’s a few minutes away from freezing to death and needs medical attention. Her secrets are hers and he has no right to demand them. Standing again, he heads into the small cabin to find the emergency radio. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” the woman demands as he picks it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calling for help. You need a hospital.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” she insists with more vehemence and life than he’s seen from her since he’s brought her back. “No hospitals. I don’t want to be seen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to be seen?” Killian repeats, frowning. She shakes her head, her hand coming up to worry a pendant around her neck. “I’ve seen you,” he points out. This woman is going to kill him. He’s torn between his need to help her and his desire to do as she wants. And the way she looks at him now makes his heart stutter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to him again, shrugs. “I don’t mind being seen by you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t mind being seen by me?” he repeats again. He has to stop repeating everything she says back to her but he still hasn’t fully convinced himself she’s real, that she’s here, that she was in his net. It feels like a fairytale, like something out of a storybook and if there’s one thing Killian’s life is not, it’s the stuff of stories and happily ever afters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “You pulled me from the water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She smiles weakly at him and Killian is surprised at how strongly the small turn of her lips affect him. He looks at her now, properly for the first time since he’d found her. She’s small, with thin limbs and a thin frame but the set of her shoulders and the way she holds her jaw betrays an obvious strength despite her size. He’s seen that defiance in someone’s face before, a smaller one. Her skin is pale and damp and there are dark circles under her large eyes, the long hair around her face slowly starting to dry and lighten as it curls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s beautiful, like one of the sirens from Alice’s books, and she doesn’t mind him seeing her. It’s been a long time since a woman hadn’t minded him being around and he feels a tightness in his chest at the same time as he feels warmth bloom in his stomach as she looks at him with trust in her wide green eyes. His gaze drifts down to the long bare legs stretched out in front of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clears his throat, trying to cast away the feelings she’s stirring in him. Here she is, terrified and clearly vulnerable and he’s looking at her like some sort of lecher. The last thing she needs is to be ogled by him. She needs help. She needs to feel safe. And if that means not wanting to be seen by anyone for whatever reason, then he’ll respect that. He sighs, hangs up the radio, and the look of relief on her face makes his heart hurt. What is she so afraid of? Just who is she? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember anything at all?” he asks, crouching down beside her. She shakes her head, her mouth setting into a hard line and he fears that perhaps, whatever she’s forgotten was forgotten on purpose. He doesn’t want to think of what could have happened to her for her to end up in that water. He can’t blame her for not wanting to think about it either. A fierce desire to protect her from whatever she’s left behind overwhelms him. Perhaps she is a siren. Perhaps she’s cast some spell over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I call you then?” he asks, giving her a small smile when she frowns. “I need to call you something besides the girl I pulled up in my net,” he pushes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you name all the fish you catch?” she asks and he barks out a surprised laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, only the ones who sucker-punch me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, looking a little embarrassed as she toys with the pendant in her hand again as she frowns, clearly trying to remember something, then she pauses and looks down at the little piece of silver she's rolling between her fingers. He follows her gaze, noticing the intricate and delicately etched bird in the center. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Swan,” she says, looking up at him again. “You can call me Swan.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at her and feels the warmth spread through him again when she returns it, even if it is a small shadow of a thing. It suits her, beautiful and elegant and fierce. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then, Swan, let’s get you somewhere safe.” He thinks for a moment, trying to figure out where he could bring her but finally realising he really only has one option. “I can take you to my place if you like. It’s not much, but there’s dry clothes and I can make a fire.” He starts rambling when she doesn't answer right away. “It’s pretty remote. People don’t go up there so you don’t have to worry about being seen by anyone. I can stay on the boat if you like.” She looks at him in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d give up your house?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. “I’d really like to get you somewhere where you can warm up and not die of hypothermia. I brought you back to life once but I don’t think I could do it a second time.” He gives her a little, self-deprecating laugh. “So yes, if it means keeping you alive, I’m happy to spend a few nights on the water.” She looks at him incredulously but the hard stance she’s held since waking up relaxes slightly. “You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal, love. Let me help you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles again. He can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this much with anyone except Alice. He stands, holding out his hand and she takes it, her fingers like little icicles in his own, and lets him pull her to her feet. She stumbles a bit, her legs unsteady and he wraps an arm around her waist, holding her to his side as he helps her walk the few steps into the cabin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, you’ll get your sea legs soon enough,” he teases and tries to ignore how her laugh makes his whole chest feel lighter. “You alright?” he asks as he settles her down onto a bench, finding another blanket and draping it over her lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She pulls his jacket around herself. He nods, heading over to the wheel across the cabin and turning back to shore. “Killian,” she speaks after a long, stretched out silence. He jumps, surprised by the sound of his name on her lips, at how much he likes it and he turns to her. “Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flushes, nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He’s not used to being thanked, to being appreciated or wanted or seen as anything but who he’s become. It leaves him unsettled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't need to thank me for that, love," he tells her, coughing awkwardly. "It's what anyone would have done."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," she whispers so low he barely hears it. When he turns to her, he recognizes the look in her eye. It’s one he'd seen in his brother's, in his own, one too many times. "It's not," she finishes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nearly half an hour later they’re rounding the bend of a small bay, one that’s hidden among the rocks and small islands that litter the surface of the water. He navigates his way through them with practiced ease, anchoring his boat and helping his passenger down into the dinghy that takes them to shore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make their way silently to the little cottage further up on the rocks. The door creaks open and Killian winces when he takes in the state of the place. He hadn’t been expecting guests. He never has guests - apart from Alice and she’s not one for being indoors. The space that serves as the entranceway, kitchen and living room is littered with bits and pieces of fishing equipment. Netting on the sofa, hooks and bait on the table, and there are an embarrassing amount of unwashed mugs and dishes filling his sink and blanketing his counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, it’s not much,” he reminds her, feeling his cheeks going red. The cottage is really just one room with a small bedroom and a bathroom off of the back wall. When Alice is over he has her sleep in his room and he takes the couch. Damn, Alice. He was supposed to meet her after sunset. She wanted to go see the fairies by the glen. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her they’re lightning bugs. Maybe, he’s the one who told her they were fairies in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he says and she turns from looking around the room to face him. “There’s a bathroom through there,” he points. “You should probably take a hot bath to warm up and there are clean towels inside. You can sleep in the bedroom if you’re tired and you’ll find clean clothes in there too. There might be a trunk in the closet with some of my mum’s old things. Take whatever you like.” He reaches into his bag, pulls out a sandwich and hands it to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” he says and feels his ears burn as she looks him over before carefully looking over the offered food. With all the commotion he’d forgotten to eat. “You must be starving.” She takes it, nodding her thanks. “I’ll be back later,” he tells her and she turns wide, surprised eyes on him. “I can stay on the boat like I said but I’ll need to grab a few things.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not staying?” she asks. He tells himself he must be imagining it. She looks disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I have somewhere I need to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, that flicker of disappointment still in her eye. There’s an awkward silence between them as they both wait for him to leave. He can’t bring himself too just yet. He needs some kind of assurance that she’ll still be here when he gets back. That he hasn’t made her up and she’ll vanish when he turns his back. After a moment her stomach growls and she laughs, opening the sandwich and taking a bite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I expected fish,” she says and it’s his turn to laugh. What the bloody hell has become of his life? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian heads for the door, stepping through it when he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. When he faces her she’s not looking at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll come back?” she asks, still refusing to meet his eye, focused on the floor and her bare feet as she shivers slightly under his jacket. He glances down at the fingers that are gripping his sleeve. After a moment, he covers them with his own. He feels her tense but she doesn’t pull away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, Swan, I’ll come back.”  And he means it. If only to know that she’ll still be here when he does. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A huge thank you to the lovely @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful work as a beta on this fic and for dealing with all my run-on sentences. &lt;3</p><p>This chapter is mainly knightrook but I made sure to give you all a little CS at the end ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Part Two</p><p> </p><p>“You’re late.” The small voice carries over the hill from the valley where the sun is just dipping below the horizon. Killian sighs but he can’t fight the indulgent smile that creeps onto his face. </p><p>“I know. Something came up. I got here as soon as I could.” </p><p>“<em> What </em> came up?” Alice demands almost accusingly from where she sits cross legged in the middle of the field. She’s wearing a t-shirt despite the chill that’s settling in the air and Killian holds back his frustration and anger that she let their daughter leave the house like this. </p><p>“Just some stuff with work,” he says dismissively.</p><p>“Was it mermaids?” she asks and he nearly chokes, startled by flashes of a cold, shivering woman drenched in sea water.</p><p>He crosses the few steps to her and reaches to pull his jacket off, only to realise it’s missing. It’s still draped over Swan’s shoulders. That is, if she really existed and he really did pull a drowned American woman out of the sea and offer her his coat and his home for the night. If it wasn’t some strange hallucination or dream. </p><p>“No, it wasn’t mermaids,” he says finally and she looks thoroughly disappointed.</p><p>He pulls his thick sweater over his head, silencing Alice’s protests as he tugs it over her small frame. </p><p>“I’m fine, Dad,” she insists, tilting her chin up and pulling her brow down in a defiant show of strength. It brings a pained smile to his face. She’s so much like Liam, and the bitter-sweet memory of his brother twists his gut while it warms his heart. She grumbles as she pulls the sleeves up as best she can to free her hands. He responds by pulling his hat firmly down over her ears. She looks ridiculous and adorable dressed in a grown man’s clothes. “Dad!” she protests again and he laughs. </p><p>“Come now, you can’t hunt fairies if you’re not properly dressed for the occasion. They’d hear your teeth chattering from all the way over here and it would scare them off.” </p><p>“We aren’t hunting them!” she cries.</p><p>“We aren’t?”</p><p>“No, Dad,” she says with exasperation. “We’re observing them.” She pulls a notebook and a pen from her backpack. “Like anthropologists.” </p><p>“Anthropologists?” he asks. He raises his brows, impressed by the rather large word coming out of his seven year old’s mouth. </p><p>“Yeah. They study people all over the world.”</p><p>Ah, so that must be what she’s learning in school this week. “Fairies aren’t people though, are they?” he points out. </p><p>Alice huffs. “People are boring. Fairies are worth studying. So are elves and mermaids.” Her face screws up in a pensive frown. “But I don’t think we have any of those around here.” If she weren’t talking about make believe magical creatures, he’d be panicking about how grown up she sounds. He’s not ready for her to grow up just yet. He wants to keep her little as long as he can, keep her believing in magic until the world inevitably snuffs it out of her like it did to him. </p><p>“So is that what you’re going to be then? An anthropologist?”</p><p>“How should I know? I’m seven. You can’t expect me to decide what I’m going to spend my whole life doing right now.” He laughs. She never stops surprising him. </p><p>“Alright then, tell me what we need to do.” </p><p>Killian follows along as she gives out orders, instructing him on the specifics of building a fairy house. <em> ‘To lure them out’ </em> she explains. Apparently, fairies like it when you build houses for them. Once it’s been built to her exact specifications - sticks stacked over each other like a log cabin and leaves and flowers carefully layered over them for the roof - she pulls a sack of gummy bears out of her backpack.</p><p>“What are those for?” </p><p>“They’re an offering. To keep them from playing tricks on us. Or kidnapping us and trapping us in the fairy realm for hundreds of years,” Alice explains matter of factly. </p><p>“Of course,” he agrees. “We wouldn’t want that. Very smart.” She beams proudly at him as she lays out a few of the candies in a small trail leading up to the house they’ve built, popping a few into her mouth in the process. </p><p>She reaches towards him and he holds out his hand, accepting the warm, sticky glob of gummy bears she places in his open palm. “You can have some too,” she tells him benevolently. </p><p>“So what do we do now?” he asks, pulling a few pieces apart from the ball of gummies and eating them. </p><p>“We wait,” she says. He glances at the sky. It's dark now and the fireflies will be out soon. He can’t wait to see her expression when they come out and light up the entire field. </p><p>“Alright,” Killian agrees, settling down on the damp grass only to be rewarded by another exasperated groan. </p><p>“Not here!” Alice insists, grabbing her bag and pulling at his shirt. “Fairies are shy! They won’t come out if they see us sitting here.” </p><p>She stands and his sweater falls down past her knees. She’s struggling to hold onto her notebook, pen, and backpack with the sleeves slipping over her fingers, so he takes the bag from her and lets her lead the way towards a patch of tall grass where she instructs him to lie down on his stomach so that they won’t be seen. Once they’re settled, she leans up on her elbows, pen in hand, and waits. </p><p>It’s a few minutes before the first little gold flicker lights up the dark field and Alice stays frozen in complete silence until it does. But as soon as she sees it, a thrilled gasp leaves her and her eyes light up in excitement. </p><p>“Did you see it?” she asks, turning to him with a toothy smile.</p><p>“Aye,” he says before nudging her shoulder with his. “Look there’s another one.”</p><p>They spend an hour and a half laying in the grass, watching the sky light up with magic, Alice scribbling away furiously in her notebook when she’s not staring mesmerized at the flickering lights. They stay there until she begins to yawn, shifting on her elbows as she tries to stay awake. It’s a valiant effort really, better than he could have managed. </p><p>“Come on, Starfish,” he tells her, placing a hand on the hat that’s slipping over her eyes. “Time to go home.” She needs to go to bed. And he needs to get his sweater back he realises, as a small shiver runs through him. </p><p>“I’m not tired,” she insists. </p><p>“I know, Love. But I need to wake up early. The fairies will be here again tomorrow night.” </p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>He smiles fondly at her. “I promise.”</p><p>“Okay,” she relents, her eyes half-closed at this point. </p><p>He packs up her bag, the pen and notebook having fallen out of her hands, and pulls it over his shoulder. “Alright, Love, let’s go,” he says, scooping her up in his other arm and balancing her weight on his hip. Her head falls against his shoulder, bobbing up and down as she fights sleep. “Let’s get you home to your mum,” he says, though he hates that he has to bring her back to her mother’s house, that he has to leave her there. </p><p>“Mum’s not home,” she mumbles and Killian ducks his head to try look at her. </p><p>“Where is she?” he asks. But he already knows the answer. He just hopes, just once, that he’ll be wrong. That she’ll have taken some damn responsibility for the first time in her life, for the first time in <em> Alice’s </em>life. </p><p>“At The Tower,” she finally answers when Killian nudges her a little. The Tower. The only pub in this godforsaken town.</p><p>“Alright,” Killian sighs, fighting back the awful things he wants to say but can’t because it’s her mother. No matter how many times Alice tells him she wishes she wasn’t. They can’t change the biological facts. All he can do is keep working with David to win custody. But on this island, in this little town, men like him don’t get custody. Better a drunken mother than an ex-con father. “Let’s go pick her up.”</p><p>The pub is a short walk from the field where the fairies live. Everything is a short walk in this town. He could make it from one end to the other in under an hour and he does every time he goes to pick up Alice. He wishes he lived closer but as cheap as rent is here, it’s not cheap enough and so his mother’s old house by the water, at the very edge of town by the cliffs, is the best he can do for now. It’s probably better that he’s far anyway - on the outskirts and isolated. Better to stay out of sight and out of mind of Alice’s mother so as to not give her any more reason to want to make his life miserable. </p><p>As he walks through the door, the smell of stale beer and cheap whiskey hits him like a bad memory. He’s done his best to avoid this place over the years since he stopped being a frequent patron. But everywhere he looks there are flashes of his old life and his old habits - the bartop where he shook hands with the crocodile and signed his life away, the table in the corner where he first met Alice’s mother, the large booth in the middle of the room where he blacked out night after night in celebration. </p><p>He spent and forgot nearly ten years of his life in this place. Hell, he’s pretty sure Alice was conceived in one of the bathrooms. Looking at the little girl still resting on his shoulder, slowly turning his arm numb, he’s amazed really that something so wonderful came out of this place - came from <em> him </em>. And from her. </p><p>He scans the bar. It takes him a moment to find her with how busy the place is, regardless of the fact that it’s a Tuesday night. But she’s right where he thought she’d be, right in the middle of the crowd, always the center of attention. She looks exactly the way she did the day he met her. Beautiful, vivacious, inviting. There was a reason he was drawn to her. If he didn’t know her as well as he does, he still would be. </p><p>But he <em> does </em> know her, knows that beneath the long, golden hair that he used to tangle his fingers in and the sultry smile that could get him to do just about anything, she’s bitter and cruel. Vain, selfish, and self-destructive. She says something he can’t make out and laughs uproariously before throwing back a shot. The others follow suit and a cheer rings throughout the room as she smashes the glass on the floor. </p><p>Alice stirs against his shoulder, her head settling more comfortably in the crook of his neck and he tries to readjust his arm so as not to wake her. He nods at Leroy as he walks past the bar and the disgruntled bartender returns it. Leroy doesn’t blink an eye at the sight of a seven year old in the pub. He’s seen her here enough times, dragged along by her mother, tucked away in a booth with a book until the wee hours of the morning or until he called Killian or David or Mary Margaret to come pick her up. </p><p>She spots him out of the corner of her eye and her face twists into a grimace, her annoyance obvious. “<em> Oh no </em>,” she says loudly, certain to catch everyone’s attention. They all follow her gaze and suddenly half the bar is staring at him. “Here comes dad to break up the party,” she says with a snarl and a laugh, which her friends quickly join in. </p><p>“Hello, Eloise,” he sighs. She picks up another shot from the table and throws it back before giving him her attention, or at least half of it.</p><p>“What do you want, Killian?” she groans.</p><p>“Alice has school in the morning,” he tells her and Eloise looks at the girl in his arms for the first time since they arrived, seeming to only now notice she’s there at all. </p><p>“So what?” </p><p>“So she should go home and go to bed. It’s eight-thirty,” he tells her, frustrated that he has to explain this. Again. </p><p>“It’s eight-thirty,” she mocks. “Come on, grandpa, live a little.” </p><p>“She’s <em> seven </em>. She needs to go to sleep.” </p><p>“She is asleep," Eloise counters. "She's fine and I’m not ready to go home,” she tells him petulantly. “The night’s just getting started.” She gestures to the other patrons as though he’s missed something obvious. Like he’s the one being unreasonable. </p><p>“<em> Damn it, Eloise </em>,” he snaps and Alice stirs again. </p><p>“Don’t fight,” she says, awake now but her voice still small and mumbled. “It’s fine, Dad,” she tells him and tries to wiggles her way out of his arms. Killian holds fast. </p><p>“I’m not leaving you here,” he tells her. </p><p>“You heard the girl,” Eloise says. “Just because <em> you </em> forgot how to have a good time doesn’t mean everyone else has to.” She moves to reach for Alice but Killian squares his shoulders. He won’t have her staying here another night. Eloise sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, take her home with you tonight. That’s what you want isn’t it?” She says it mockingly, like it’s ridiculous that he’d want to be with his daughter. </p><p>It is what he wants. It’s always what he wants. He wants to take Alice home and have her stay with him from now on. But Eloise won’t allow that. Not so long as keeping his daughter from him keeps him miserable. He’s shocked that she’s suggesting it now. She must be more inebriated than she seems. She always could hold her liquor. Better than him, anyway. </p><p>But the excitement he feels at the idea of taking his daughter home and tucking her in bed is crushed as he’s suddenly reminded that someone is already tucked up in that bed. He can’t bring Alice to the cottage. Not while there’s a strange woman there. Or, there might be. </p><p>“I can’t take her home tonight,” he says, his voice weak. </p><p>Eloise’s eyes widen in shock. “Well, never thought I see you pass up a chance to play Daddy Dearest,” she goads him. “What’s the matter? You got a girl in that dingy little shack of yours? Worried the little one’ll get in the way of you getting lucky?” </p><p>He can feel the anger rising in his veins but he won’t give in to her. He sets his jaw, and clenches his fist to try calm himself. “I’ll take her to David and Mary Margaret's,” he says firmly. “She can spend the night there. Mary Margaret will bring her to school in the morning.” He glares at Eloise. “Do you think you’ll be able to pick her up, or will you still have your head in the toilet at three o’clock?” Eloise seethes and flips him the middle finger. Killian hates how much satisfaction it brings him but this woman can get on his last nerve like nobody else. </p><p>Alice is awake enough to wiggle down from his arms as he turns and heads out of the bar. Walking along beside him she reaches up and takes his hand in both of hers so as not to get lost among the crowd of increasingly drunken men and women who find the sight of the waist-high child in here highly amusing. </p><p>“Are we going to Ms. Blanchard’s?” she asks as they make their way up the road to her teacher’s house. </p><p>“Aye, love,” he tells her, squeezing her hand more tightly in his own. Since Alice was small - well, smaller - David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard have served as a surrogate home for Killian’s daughter whenever he couldn’t count on Eloise to keep her safe and he couldn’t risk taking her home for fear of the wrath Eloise would unload on him for having her over on a day that wasn’t ‘his’. </p><p>Killian would never be able to repay the kindness that the police officer and the teacher had shown him from those first few months when Alice started kindergarten and Mary Margaret became aware of their situation, of Eloise and of the constantly lost custody battles. It had started off small, offering to watch her after school when Killian was at work and Eloise never showed to pick her up. But after three years, they’d become the only two people in the world that he could count on, willing to take Alice in at a moment’s notice, loving her enough to want to keep her safe at all costs. </p><p>“Why can’t we go to your house?” she asks through a yawn. He’d try and carry her again but he knows she’s too stubborn. She’ll walk the whole way to prove she can take care of herself. Thankfully, they only need to walk about ten minutes. </p><p>“Because my house was infested with goblins yesterday. They turned the whole place over before I got them all out and it still smells like goblin poop no matter what I do.” </p><p>“Gross,” she says and Killian laughs. She probably wouldn’t believe him if she weren’t already half-dreaming. “Is that why you smell like that?” she asks. Killian frowns, sniffing at his shirt and remembering he didn’t have time to shower after his day on the water with everything that happened.</p><p>It’s only a moment after he knocks that the door is swung open and David is on the other side. He takes one look at Killian and then one look at Alice and steps back to let them in. </p><p>“Where’s Eloise?” David asks and Killian sighs.</p><p>“Where she always is,” he says. </p><p>“Write it down,” David tells him. “Document all of it. We can’t prove negligence unless we have specific -” </p><p>“I know,” Killian says. David has been telling him this for years. Every failed pickup, every empty lunchbox, every night they’re called to pick Alice up from the pub is neatly accounted for and catalogued in the case file David has been building since Alice was four. But Killian gives him a look, glancing at his daughter and he knows David understands. Not now. Not in front of Alice. She doesn’t need to know the battles that are being fought over her. She’s too little. </p><p>“Is that Alice?” Mary Margaret calls as they make their way through the hall and into the kitchen.</p><p>“Sure is,” David answers. “We’re having a sleepover.” </p><p>“Excellent!” she says with a bright smile but Killian can see the sad look she throws his way. He nods, confirming her worries. “It’s pretty late though. Why don’t we get you ready for bed and we can have pancakes in the morning?” </p><p>“Can David make them?” she asks and David’s wide grin makes Killian roll his eyes.</p><p>“You betcha, kid.” </p><p>Alice is easily swayed by the sneaky bribe to get her to bed without complaint and she follows the other woman into the bathroom to brush her teeth after confirming that her dad will come in and tell her a story once she’s in bed. </p><p>“Do you need me to go get her some clothes for tomorrow?” Killian asks.</p><p>“No, don’t worry about it,” David assures him. “We still have some stuff here from her last sleepover. Mary Margaret washed it all and put it in a drawer for when she comes over.”</p><p>Killian nods but the idea of his daughter having a drawer at someone else’s house so that she doesn’t have to sleep in a dirty booth next to her mom is a sharp pain in his chest. “Sorry to put you out like this,” he says with a wince. </p><p>“Hey,” David says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Never. We love having her. And it’s not forever. She’ll be with you soon.” </p><p>He nods again but thinks of his small cottage with the heat that’s not always on and that’s almost always a mess. “Aye, I know, but…” he hesitates and David waits as Killian looks around the large, warm and inviting home that he could never give his daughter. “Is that really what’s best for her?” </p><p>“Yes,” his friend answers without hesitation. “You’re what’s best for her. She loves you. And you’ll always have us.” Killian puts his hand over David’s, which is still on his shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. </p><p>“She’s waiting for her story,” Mary Margaret tells him, emerging from the guest room. “She said something about a goblin infestation?” </p><p>“Aye,” Killian says carefully, looking at their waiting faces. “It’s a long story. I can’t explain it just yet. But, I will. Soon. Hopefully,” he winces. If he didn’t make her up. If he’s not losing his mind. David and Mary Margaret don’t press him for details but he knows he won’t get away with it for long. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to tell them about the girl in the net. But he needs to keep it a secret a little longer, for her. And for him. </p><p>He makes his way into the guest room and Alice is already buried under the covers, her breathing steady and even. She’s snuggling her white rabbit and he’s extremely grateful that she takes that thing with her everywhere, or it would have been a mess getting her to sleep without it. </p><p>Killian sits on the edge of the bed and tucks the hair that’s fallen over her face behind her ear. He leans down and presses a kiss to her sleeping forehead. “‘Night, Starfish,” he says before watching her sleep a moment longer. As he stands and heads for the door, he hears her speak from the bed. </p><p>“So what’s the story?” she asks. Killian pauses in the doorway and holds back his laugh. What a fool he was to think he’d get away with not telling her a bedtime story. “You promised,” she reminds him.</p><p>“I did,” he agrees and heads back to the bed. He sits on the edge again and strokes her back in the way that he knows will put her to sleep in minutes.</p><p>“So?” she demands. </p><p>“Once upon a time,” Killian starts, biding time as he tries to come up with something to tell her. But the only thing that he can think of is the woman on the boat. </p><p>“Does it always have to be ‘once upon a time’?”</p><p>“It does. That's how stories start.”</p><p>“Was it a good time?” she asks and he looks at her, smiling as his heart warms. </p><p>“Aye, it was. And it was a bad time too,” he admits, remembering why they’re here. “Close your eyes,” he tells her. She does and he continues. “Once upon a time, there was a fisherman.”</p><p>“Was it you?” </p><p>“No, just a fisherman. In a land far, far away. One day, when it was very cold and very wet, the fisherman was pulling in his nets. And when he pulled them in he saw that there was a girl inside of them.”</p><p>“Was she alive?”</p><p>“She was. But she couldn’t remember who she was or where she came from. So the fisherman gave her a place to stay. A place where no one would find her, where she could be safe, secret and hidden away.”</p><p>“What was she?” Alice asks.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Was she a mermaid?”</p><p>“No,” Killian ponders. “She wasn’t a mermaid. She didn’t have a tail.”</p><p>“Was she a selkie, then?”</p><p>“What’s a selkie?”</p><p>“It’s a sort of seal-lady. They shed their seal coats and come up on land.” </p><p>Killian hums. “Aye, she could have been a selkie.”</p><p>“So then what?”</p><p>“That’s it,” he realises. That’s the end of his story. He pulled a woman up in his net and gave her a place to stay. That was the whole story. It had seemed so much grander, so much more complicated a few hours ago. </p><p>“That’s it? That’s a really shite story, Dad,” she tells him, and it takes every ounce of his strength to choke back his laughter and warn her about her language. </p><p>“It is. It’s been a long day.” He kisses her forehead again. “Sleep tight, Starfish. Be good for David and Mary Margaret. I’ll see you soon, okay.” </p><p>“Tomorrow?”</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow,” he tells her, not making any promises. Who knows how vengeful Eloise will be in the morning. “Now go to sleep.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The walk back to his house feels long. His limbs are heavy and his muscles are sore and there’s a fog in the air that matches the one in his head. He can’t stop thinking about her - <em> Swan </em> . Her eyes, her hair, the way she tried to bully him, elbowed him in the gut even as she coughed up water. How she trusted him. <em> 'I don't mind being seen by you.' </em>He doesn’t know what to expect. With each step he takes closer and closer to the cottage, he changes his mind. She’ll still be there. She was never there. He made her up. He couldn’t have made her up. He felt her in his arms and heard her speak. It wasn’t real. She won't be there. She never was. Or worse, maybe she’s left. God, he hopes she's there.</p><p>The moon is full and its light bounces off the mist in the air, making it thick and opaque. He can’t see a foot in front of himself, feels like he’s walked into some vast emptiness, a place where time and place don’t matter, an in-between. He feels like he’s stepped into another world. He has since he saw that hand reaching out of the water. This isn’t his life. It’s the stuff of fairytales and magic and myths - beautiful, mysterious women, mermaids and selkies... evil women who keep children locked away. He lets a self-deprecating chuckle out into the emptiness. Maybe his life <em> is </em> the stuff of fairytales after all - only not the good parts. </p><p>Killian doesn’t realise he’s made it home until he’s standing in the garden. It looks the same as it always does, a little decrepit, a little run-down. The paint is chipping off the door and the shutters need replacing. But it’s home. It was his mother’s and she left it to him and if Alice wants it, someday it’ll be hers. For all the bad memories he has of this house, it’s also one of the only places that holds memories of Liam and his mother and he can’t bring himself to let it go, regardless of the price he could get for the land. </p><p>He could draw it out. He could wait in the garden, prepare himself for whatever is waiting inside - the hope that she’s still there and the fear that she’s not. But waiting won’t change anything. And… he did promise he’d come back. </p><p>The cottage is just as he expects it to be except - it’s not. There’s something off, or rather, for the first time in years, there’s <em> nothing </em> off. There are no dishes stacked on the counter or in the sink. The netting that covered the floor and the sofa are neatly folded and stacked in a chest by the door. The blanket of dust that usually covers every surface of the place is gone. The only thing that’s as he left it is the mess on the table: the bait and the hooks and the tackle. </p><p>The chaos of it looks out of place now. Like it doesn’t quite belong. <em> She </em>, however, she looks like she belongs, like she’s exactly where she should be, like this cottage was made for her, like it was waiting for her to come and find it and settle in and now he’s an intruder, invading a space he has no business trespassing, no business corrupting with everything he’s carried in with him tonight. </p><p>She’s curled up on the sofa when he walks in, a worn, battered copy of one of his books balanced on her knees, the one he keeps on his nightstand. She jumps when he steps through the door, eyes wide for only a second in fright before he can see her instinct to fight take over and then, she calms. Her shoulders relax - though not completely - and he can see a heavy breath leave her. </p><p>“Sorry,” is all he says, lamely too. He hadn’t meant to scare her. Maybe he should have knocked. But he’d have felt silly knocking on the door of an empty house - of his own empty house. But it’s not empty. She’s there. He blinks a few times to make sure. He expects her to disappear, to vanish like a mirage each time he opens his eyes again. She doesn’t answer, only looks at him hesitantly, like she’s waiting for something. Wearily, as though she’s expecting to be thrown out. “You’re still here.”</p><p>“You thought I’d leave?”she asks, her voice still rough from the salt water. </p><p>“No, I thought I’d dreamed you up.” An expression he can’t quite read crosses her features and he worries he’s said too much. He looks around the room again, avoiding her gaze. “You cleaned,” he points out the obvious. </p><p>“Uh, yeah.” She stands slowly, sets the book down. “I hope that’s okay.”</p><p>“Of course it’s okay. But you didn’t have to.” She only shrugs. He looks at where his fishing gear is still strewn about the table. </p><p>“I didn’t want to mess anything up,” she says awkwardly. “In case you had some kind of system.”</p><p>He laughs. “No, no system.” He looks her over out of the corner of his eye, taking in the large, knit sweater (his), and the worn jeans (his mother’s). She’s got a pair of his socks on too, rolled over around her ankles a few times to keep them up. Her hair is still damp, though he hopes it’s from a hot bath and not the cold ocean. “I see you found something to wear. Are you feeling alright?” he asks. </p><p>She nods. “Yeah. No hypothermia.” She gives him a small grin.</p><p>“Can selkies get hypothermia?” he mutters to himself.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing.” He’s been letting Alice get into his head too much. “Do you remember anything?” </p><p>She shakes her head. “No.”</p><p>“Left it all behind in the water?”</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll wash up soon enough.” </p><p>“You think?”</p><p>“Aye, the sea never keeps anything long here - always spits it back out eventually.”</p><p>“Like me.”</p><p>He grins. “Technically, you were fished out.” She smiles and lets out a small laugh that he feels in his own chest, like a shock, reminding his heart to beat, only now it’s beating in time with her every word and movement. Killian takes a moment to look at her properly, with her face lit up and her hair a mess - he should probably buy a hairbrush - she may not be a mirage, but she’s certainly a vision. She stares back at him, searching his face for something but he doesn’t know what. It unsettles him. He doesn’t like to think of what she might find there, what she might see. He clears his throat. </p><p>“I just came back to have a shower and then I’ll grab my things and head to the <em> Jolly </em>.” </p><p>“The Jolly?”</p><p>“My boat. <em> The Jolly Roger </em>.”</p><p>“Oh. Why <em> The Jolly Roger </em>?”</p><p>Killian scratches behind his ear, unsure how much to reveal about himself. But Swan has no memories of her own life. The least he can do is share some of his. “My daughter named it. We’d just read Peter Pan,” he explains, nodding to the book that’s still balanced on the arm of the couch.</p><p>“You have a daughter?” she asks, eyes flashing with surprise. </p><p>He nods. “Alice.” </p><p>“Like the book. In Wonderland.” </p><p>“Aye. And like my mother.” </p><p>“And... <em> her </em> mother?” she asks, looking around the place cautiously and then at him with apprehension, like she regrets prying. He doesn’t mind though. It’s been a while since someone wanted to pry into his life. </p><p>“Alice lives with her.” </p><p>“Oh.” An awkward silence passes between them. </p><p>“Right. I’ll just wash up then.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Once in the bathroom, Killian turns the water on hot, hoping to wash the ice from his bones and the weariness from his shoulders. He’s not thrilled at the prospect of spending the night on the water but as hard as his day has been, Swan’s has been worse and if it takes him leaving the house for her to feel safe at last, he can offer her that small comfort.</p><p>He scrubs a hand over his face as the water beats down over his tired muscles. He’s at a loss for what to do. About Alice and Eloise, about his job and his life. When did it get quite so complicated? He lost track somewhere along the way. And now there’s her. The woman who’s come into his life out of nowhere and turned it upside down already, stirred feelings in him that he hasn’t felt in years, feelings he’d forgotten he had, feelings he’d given up on having again. </p><p>“Come on, Jones,” he scrubs his hair back against his scalp. <em> You met her four hours ago. She doesn’t know who she is but when she does, she’ll go back to wherever she came from and forget all about you. What could you offer her anyway? A single dad with a used up heart and a shitty boat?  </em></p><p>He sighs. He’s out of his mind, out of his league. He doesn’t even know who she is and he knows she probably deserves better. He needs to nip this in the bud now, stop it before it becomes something that he can’t stop, before it becomes something that could hurt him. She’s alone in the world right now. She needs better and he’ll do his best to be as close to that as possible. <em> Don’t be a creep </em> , he tells himself. <em> Stop thinking about her like that. Think about her with your head. Don’t think with your heart and your fucking dick, just… stop it. Just help </em>. </p><p>Turning off the water, he takes a moment to steady himself. She’s real. She’ll be out there when he steps through the door. He didn’t make her up. She’s not some mermaid or some selkie. She’s just a woman who needs somewhere to stay. Who maybe doesn’t need someone to help her, he thinks, looking at the slightly blue tinged mark blooming on his stomach. Someone who doesn’t need it, but who sure could use it, he decides, remembering the look she gave him when he asked if she was still here. He didn’t make her up. </p><p>He pulls the towel from the hook beside the tub and dries off as best he can before he realises he didn’t bring a change of clothes in with him and he really, <em> really </em> doesn’t relish the idea of putting on his shirt and trousers that smell of fish and sweat. It’s only a few steps from the bathroom to the bedroom. He can probably duck from one to the other without her even noticing him if he’s quick enough. He doubts she’d be too thrilled with him walking out half-naked right now after how quickly she jumped at the idea of him spending the night on his boat and out of the cottage, far away from her. </p><p>He cracks the door open, peeking out into the room to check she’s distracted, hoping to find her fallen back into his book or messing with his nets but what he finds is… nothing. The room is empty. No Swan, no book, only his tackle strewn about on the table. He pushes the door open the rest of the way. She’s… gone. Disappeared like she was never here at all. Perhaps she never was. No. She was. He knows she was here now. Which means… she left. His heart beats through his limbs and turns them numb as the disappointment settles over him. <em> Of course she left </em>. </p><p>The floorboard creaks next to him and he turns just as he hears the small “<em> oh” </em> . He meets her eyes, blinking in surprise, the green deepened against her reddened cheeks as she slowly casts them down over his chest and then quickly back up to his own, wide with embarrassment and guilt. If he were less distracted, maybe he could take a moment to feel flattered or even smug at how she’s blushing and actively avoiding looking anywhere below his jaw, but all he can think is <em> she’s still here. </em></p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says, looking at the floor, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear. “I was putting your book back and -” </p><p>“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I was just going to go grab some clothes,” he gestures towards his bedroom. “And then-”</p><p>“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I -” she stops as her eyes trail back up towards his, pausing below his chest. “Oh, god,” she sighs, reaching out and placing her fingers over the fresh bruise. “Did I do that?” She traces the shape of it carefully, frowning, and while her hand feels like ice against his skin, it sends fire shooting through his stomach and he hisses. “Sorry!” She looks horribly embarrassed as she snatches her hand back and he shakes his head. </p><p>“No, you’re fine. But you’re still bloody freezing, love,” he tells her, fighting the urge to take both her hands and warm them between his own. He’s relieved when she tucks them under her arms, burying them in his sweater. He thinks of the little fireplace in the bedroom. He and Liam used to bundle up under the covers in there with their mum on the really cold nights. “Let me just get dressed and I’ll build a fire before I head out, alright?”</p><p>She nods and he moves around her to the bedroom. The damp left on his skin and in his hair is starting to chill and he’s had enough of being cold for one day, but he pauses when she speaks again. “You don’t have to…” He doesn’t say anything but he turns to her, cocking his head in question. Doesn’t have to what? She clears her throat uncomfortably, watching her foot shuffling against the floor before she finally looks up at him. There’s a determination in her eyes, if not a little bit of weariness. </p><p>“You don’t have to sleep on the boat. This is your house,” she tells him. She lets out a sigh. “And it’s cold. You saved me from freezing to death today. It would be pretty crap of me to send you out to do it instead.” </p><p>Killian smiles a little at her reasoning, relieved at the idea of not spending the night on the water but still… “Are you sure? Because I -”</p><p>“<em> Killian </em>.” She gives him a look, one that suggests he’s being an idiot and it makes him laugh. </p><p>“Alright,” he agrees, trying again to ignore how much he likes hearing her say his name - even in frustration. “But at least take the room.” He cuts her off when she tries to protest. “It’ll be warmer. And, don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you look like you could use a good night’s sleep.” He can see her determination to not be taken care of and her desire for a comfortable bed warring on her face. Finally, it seems the comfort wins. </p><p>“Okay. Thank you. I promise it won’t be for long,” she says and he hates how much the thought of her leaving already hurts. </p><p>“You can stay as long as you need,” he tells her, choosing his words carefully. Not as long as you <em> want </em>. He knows how much easier it is to justify staying out of need than out of desire. How much easier it is to give in to. </p><p>He steps past her into the room to change but as he closes the door, he lets his head fall against it, lets a heavy breath he’d been holding in go as he squeezes his eyes shut tight. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long she plans to stay, doesn’t know how long she’ll let him be a part of her story. How long will he get before she remembers who she is and goes back to that life, to the people who could be waiting for her? A family? A husband? Someone she loves surely - someone worthy. </p><p>The thought twists his gut. But he’ll offer his home and his bed as long as she wants it because he’s already gone. A few looks, a few vulnerable cracks in the iron-strong walls, a blow to the gut and a gentle hand, and he knows there’s no going back now. She can stay as long as she wants because if it were up to him, she would stay forever. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much Cathy @ultraluckycatnd for putting up with all my "Okay but what if"s and for helping make this chapter so much better!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Killian sags back onto the couch again, the springs beneath the old, worn leather creaking under his weight as he tries to find a more comfortable position. He’s been restless all night and he knows he can’t blame the couch and the inevitable back pain he’ll wake up with - he’s used to that. He needs to be up early tomorrow, as he does every morning that he works, and is every morning he doesn’t out of habit. But still, every muscle in his body feels restless and tense, his mind swimming with thoughts of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Swan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three times now he’s gotten up in some crazed moment of madness and walked towards the room where she sleeps and three times he’s stopped himself, shaking his head at his own insanity. Each time he told himself it was for a different reason. To see she’s still alive, to see she’s sleeping soundly, to make sure the fire is still burning hot and warming the chill from her skin, to pull her against him and feel the warmth of her body against his and of her mouth against his own. Maybe just to remind himself she’s real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls over, staring up at the ceiling, frowning at a stain from the dampness. He runs a hand over his face, sighing as he squeezes the bridge of his nose as he tries to banish the images from his mind; of her smile, soft and hesitant but trusting, of her dress, soaked and clinging to the shape of her, the way her fingers burned when they touched his skin. His arm and his stomach are still humming with the feel of her against him and he groans in frustration. He wishes she didn’t have such an effect on him, that he could feel less guilty, less selfish in his desire to have her here, even if it is it’s own kind of torture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before reason can catch up with him, he’s sat up and flung the wool blanket off and crossed the small room to her door, fist poised to knock. But before he can, he stops, catches himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell are you doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>? he asks himself, letting his head fall softly against the wood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What are you going to do? Wake her up in the middle of the night? Lay yourself down at her feet? </span>
  </em>
  <span>No. That’s not who he is and it’s not who he wants to be. He promised her shelter and safety and he didn’t ask for anything in return because she doesn’t owe him that - no matter how badly he might desire it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is it about this woman that has him so under her spell that he can’t think straight? He can’t even remember how to think or act or feel - only how to want. He wants her and it’s all consuming, but it’s more than that. He wants to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, to protect her and keep her safe and care for her and </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her, surround himself in everything that she is and that she’s willing to give. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t felt this way since… hell, he’s never felt this way. He’s felt lust and affection and even bordered on love once or twice but this - it’s never been anything like this. Siren or not she’s entranced him, bewitched him and laid waste to all reason and logic and he sees now how men of myth could be lured to their death on rocky shores for the chance of being near her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t. He won’t. He’s just convinced himself to return to the settee when a sound stops him, freezes him in place with his forehead still pressed to the door. It wasn’t much, just the soft creak of a floorboard. He may have even imagined it, this old house lets out so many weary sounds in the night. But it came from her side of the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits. It’s quiet now, deafeningly so, the air unnaturally cool and still around him. It’s a moment before he hears a soft intake of breath, the brush of her hand against the door and his heart leaps to his throat. She’s there. He knows she is and she must know he’s there too. He can picture her on the other side, inches away and warring with the same conflicting emotions as he is, the same desires and hesitations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he realises, remembering who she is and more importantly who </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. Women like her don’t pine for men like him. They don’t lose sleep over them. He sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s the first smart thing you’ve thought all night</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he tells himself. He stays there a second longer, listening to the sound of her breathing through the door, steady and even, letting himself pretend just for a second that she’s pressing herself closer to it like he is, that she’s thinking of turning the knob, before he steps back and returns to the lumpy sofa for the last time that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays there, staring up at the same water stain until he finally hears the sounds of her footsteps retreating, barely audible in the quiet room, and then the soft squeak of the mattress as she climbs back into bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get a hold of yourself, mate,” he mutters aloud, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and trying to will away the image of her sleeping in his bed. It doesn’t work and so he resigns himself to it, to spending however long she plans to be here wanting what he can’t have, what he can’t even deign to ask for, and he succumbs to sleep amidst thoughts of her where even in his dreams he isn’t worthy, but it’s easier to forget. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning comes quietly, rousing him slowly with grey light that will only melt into a slightly different hue as the day goes on. He realises he forgot to set his alarm, the sun already above the horizon behind a thick sheet of clouds and he groans at the fact that he’ll be late to start his day now. He’s usually on the water from sunrise to sunset and that window grows shorter and shorter as the months go on. Today though, he needed to start early if he was going to pick up Alice from school and he begrudges the hours lost and the income it could cost him - not that he’s been bringing in much lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he hears the soft voice come from the kitchen, almost a whisper and he sits up to find Swan standing in his kitchen. Her feet are bare on the aged wood of his floor, toes curling against the grain as she stands with one foot on top of the other. She’s only wearing one of his shirts, the thick flannel falling just above her knees. He hadn’t noticed before how small she was. He’s not a large man by any means but his shirt swallows her frame, dwarfing her under it. It surprises him; she’d seemed so strong and unbreakable even as she shivered and gasped for breath on the deck of his boat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a moment to answer, a daze falling over him as he swears he sees the sun catch her hair as she pulls her hand back from where she’d been grabbing a mug out of his cupboards and holds it to her chest. But there’s no sun coming through the window and she’s watching him with her lip caught between her teeth and he realises he’s staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he says finally, shaking his head and standing. “I actually overslept.” Swan glances out the window where it’s still dusk and raises a brow at him in surprise. He laughs softly, reaching up to brush a spot behind his ear. “Life on the water breeds early risers,” he explains and she contemplates him, a small smile tugging at her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that’s what it is then,” she says and it’s his turn to raise a brow in question. “Why I’m up so early,” she continues. “Considering all of my life that I can remember started yesterday, you could say I’ve spent most of it on the water.” She smiles coyly. “Or in it, I guess,” she adds and he lets out a surprised chuckle, nodding. She’s not wrong. “Do you want some tea?” she asks then, unsure, gesturing vaguely with the mug in her hands. “I guess it’s yours really but -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cuts her off before she can go on doubting herself anymore around him. “Aye. Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” She nods, looking pleased and moves to take the kettle that has just started to boil off the stove. She hesitates then, casting a somewhat distraught look around the room and Killian laughs a little, stepping closer and reaching around her for the tin he keeps tucked away on top of the fridge. “Allow me,” he offers and she smirks before handing him the mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns and grabs a second cup, both of them part of the array of mismatched dishes he’s collected over the years and sets it down on the counter next to him. He opens the tin and drops a bag of tea in each, then slides them over so that she can pour the water over them. She makes room for him as he reaches into the fridge and grabs the milk, lifting it to his nose to make sure it’s still good before setting it down on the table. He can’t help but notice how easily they move together, no awkward bumping into each other or side-stepping apologies.  It feels natural and comfortable, like she’s always been here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan brings the mugs to the little table and sets them down in front of two chairs. Killian sets the milk down as she sits and then pauses, turning back to the cupboards. “Do you take sugar?” he asks, unsure if he even has any. He realises then that he can’t remember the last time he did groceries. He makes a note to do some today after he picks Alice up. If Swan’s going to stay here, she’ll need to eat. He manages to find sugar and emerges victorious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds her staring at the mug in front of her with a deep frown maring her forehead. “Swan?” he asks, his own brow furrowing in concern. She looks up at him and lets out a slightly manic laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she says. Her tone is light but he can see the worry, even the slight panic in her eyes. It’s a small thing, taking sugar in your tea, but not remembering such a simple, everyday detail about yourself must be terrifying and he can see that fear now and wants nothing more than to ease it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly, he grabs another mug and makes a third cup of tea, setting it in front of her. She looks up at him quizzically and he gives her half a smile, pouring milk into both and spooning sugar into one. “One with and one without,” he tells her. “You can decide what you like now until you remember.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nervous look in her eyes fades then, her watery gaze overtaken by a wobbly, bemused but thankful smile as she reaches out and pulls the mugs to her one at a time, sipping slowly from both and considering. “With,” she says finally, sitting back in the chair and holding the cup to her chest again. Killian nods, taking his seat beside her and drinking his own tea black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in companionable silence until both their mugs are empty and Swan has added sugar to the second one and drunk that one too. The sun is climbing higher now and while Killian knows this will be a day wasted, he finds it hard to begrudge it if it’s the price for such a morning. He can’t remember the last time he felt so calm and at ease at the start of his day, the last time he didn’t face the dawn with resentment and misery seeping into his bones with the damp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, as much as he’d like to sit here and spend the rest of the day drinking tea with the strange woman he pulled from the sea, he does need to get out on the water soon. Regretfully, he stands, picking up the three empty mugs and setting them down in the sink, an old habit. He’ll wash them later. He looks at Swan and gestures towards the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I go and get dressed?” he asks and she shakes her head watching him carefully, like she wants to say something but is holding back. It unnerves him, wondering what she sees as her eyes scan over him intently. He must look nearly as sleep deprived as he feels and it's been ages since he shaved, let alone had his hair cut. And yet here she sits, having been half-drowned just the day before and she looks like someone out of a painting, one of the ones from Alice’s story books, full of beautiful princesses and enchantresses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smooths a hand over the back of his hair self-consciously, clearing his throat. Swan meets his eyes and he can only stand to hold them for a moment before he ducks into his room to grab a change of clothes. As he pulls the sweater over his head, he contemplates the dichotomy of how much of a relief it will be to be alone for the day, free of the overwhelming and desperate emotions she stirs in him so easily, and how much he realises he’ll miss her, knowing she’s here in his home and he can’t be with her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This woman will be the death of me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he returns to the kitchen, he finds her washing the dishes, standing on her own foot again at the sink and he can’t help how endearing he finds it. “You don't have to do that,” he tells her, feeling guilty about leaving the dishes in the sink, hoping she didn’t think he expected her to clean them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “I don’t mind.” She puts the last one on the drying rack. “It’s good to have something to do. I like being able to keep myself busy.” Killian’s not crazy about her keeping herself busy doing all his housework, picking up after him and his bad habits. Maybe they can find her a hobby, something to keep herself entertained and, he guesses, </span>
  <em>
    <span>distracted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, while he’s out all day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets to collecting his things, his waders and his boots and his jacket, as she heads into the bedroom and closes the door, emerging a minute later in her jeans from yesterday and one of his sweaters. He gathers up some extra nets and pulls a can of soup out of the cabinet - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs to get some groceries - and pulls on his hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan watches, following him slowly around the cottage and then out the door when he leaves. He doesn’t mind, she’s a pleasant presence to have around him, but she still has that hesitance from earlier so he waits, not wanting to push her, letting her work up the nerve to ask him whatever’s on her mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches the shore and steps out onto the homemade dock, reaching down to untie the rope and pull in the dingy so he can climb aboard. Swan hesitates at the end of the dock where the grass and the rock meet the wood. Then, after a moment, she walks over to him, standing next to him and watching as he reels the craft in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going fishing again?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, every day. I thought I might catch another one,” he smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another girl in your net?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Who knows, maybe the sea is full of them.” His smile grows wider as she returns it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She catches her thumbnail between her teeth. “Can I come with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there it is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s honestly surprised she wants to be out on the water again after yesterday, but she looks so eager that he feels the small, mirthful part of him that had long been buried sneak out to tease her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he shrugs, making a show of considering it. “It’s bad luck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan frowns. “A woman on a boat?” she practically scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “Have you been having much luck lately?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes him laugh and he shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.” He looks at her then and she’s still scowling at him. He likes to see this side of her is coming out again, the side that elbowed him in the stomach. “Alright,” he says, “climb on,” and her face lights up with excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian grabs hold of the railing and then reaches out his hand to help her aboard. She takes it without hesitation, her hand warm and soft in his as she steps onto the unsteady bottom. When he’s sure she’s got her footing, he follows after her and pushes away from shore, pulling the cord of the engine until it revs and takes them to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jolly</span>
  </em>
  <span> which waits a few hundred yards out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches her as they cross the water. She has her back to him, the wind blowing her hair wildly behind her. When the spray from the bow reaches up over the side and gets caught in the wind, she turns her face to it, letting the cool droplets fall on her cheeks. She turns back to him then with a grin, her eyes wide and happy beneath her damp eyelashes, blonde strands wiping about her temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels a pull in his chest unlike anything he’s felt around her yet. This is the first time he’s seen her so carefree and relaxed, so happy and even excited, and she’s smiling at him like he hung the damn stars for her when really all he did was let her sit in his glorified little metal rowboat. She looks back ahead, reaching her arm down to catch the splash of the sea against her palm and her fingers and suddenly the wind doesn’t feel so cold to him, the damp not so depressing. She truly is unlike anyone he’s ever met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jolly</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she spins around in her seat, waiting for him to tell her what to do next. He can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. “Just give me a minute,” he tells her. “Don’t go standing or you’ll send us both swimming with the fishes.” She rolls her eyes at him but does as he says and lets him drop the anchor on the dinghy and attach the buoys to the side. “Alright,” he says finally, standing and reaching for the edge of the larger boat, pulling them in until the buoys are sandwiched between the two. “Climb aboard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a small metal ladder on the side of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jolly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just enough to help make the few feet in height difference from the ocean to the deck easier and she stands, heading towards it, wobbling slightly. Killian reaches out a hand and she grasps it tightly, her fingers still wet from the salt water and she smiles at him in thanks as he leads her to the ladder which she climbs with ease. Once she’s over the railing, she leans over and smiles proudly at him and he offers her an impressed nod of acknowledgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s climbed onto the deck himself, he heads over to the little cabin that surrounds the helm, grabbing an extra wind-breaker and handing it to her. She puts it on gratefully. Then he sets to testing all the switches, making sure everything is in working order and then flicks the one that reels in the anchor. Once it’s up and the engine is started, he lowers the net and sets them out to sea. All throughout, Swan studies his actions with curious attention. When he sets the net down, she walks out to the back of the boat and watches it sink into the water with a far away expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright, love?” he asks and she nods after a moment, heading back into the cabin and sitting against the small counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he says, more than willing to help pull her out of whatever memory she’s gotten lost in. “You can man the tiller.” He steps back, keeping one hand on the wheel but allowing her enough room to stand in front of it. She leaps up and crosses the cabin, grabbing hold of the wheel, her shoulder brushing his chest and he swallows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he continues, his voice tighter than he’d like as she turns her head to look at him, her nose nearly brushing his and her lips inches away before she tilts her head back slightly to allow more distance between them. He hadn’t noticed before, the little constellations of freckles that blanket her nose and cheeks. She’s red under them now and he realises he’s staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat. “You see that gap in the shoreline?” he asks, pointing to where the bay opens up to the ocean. She leans in closer again, squinting slightly and following the point of his finger. He’s trying to ignore the way that her hair smells of his shampoo and how it’s somehow infinitely better than anything he’s ever smelled before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just keep heading towards that. Once we’re through just keep going.” She nods and focuses on her task, clearly taking it seriously and it brings a smile to his lips. Once he’s sure she’s got a handle on it, he heads out of the cabin, careful not to brush against her as he passes, and goes to check his nets, making sure nothing is loose. He’s busying himself is what he’s really doing. He doesn’t have to check anything, but he needed to get out of that cabin where he felt like he was drowning in her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps an eye out on the horizon, making sure she keeps their course straight, smiling every time she looks back at him to check she’s doing it right. When they’ve cleared the bay he braces himself and steps back into the cabin. He reaches awkwardly for the wheel, turning it slightly to the right, in the direction of his first traps. She gives him a mischievous grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like a pirate,” she tells him and he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This boat is hardly anything so grand, I’m afraid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “It’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jolly Roger</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t it? I read your book last night. It’s very </span>
  <em>
    <span>grand</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says, imitating his accent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that make me Captain Hook?” he asks with an amused grin. “Shall we sail off to Neverland?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the hook fits.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that’s where you came from,” he suggests and she raises a questioning brow at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? A lost girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Or maybe a mermaid who got swept away,” he teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” she says with a soft smile. “That wouldn’t be so terrible would it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he shakes his head. “Not terrible at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s another ten minutes before they reach his traps. Swan has given up her position at the helm, making her way to the front of the boat, leaning over the railing in a way that nearly gives him a heart attack, and reaching out to catch the spray against her hand as she had on the dinghy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point she’d shed his jacket, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to her elbows and he wonders at how she doesn’t seem to mind the cold. Perhaps she’s been frozen enough for one lifetime, her body used to it now and numb to it. Or maybe she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a sea creature. The mist and the wind couldn’t feel so terrible compared to the icy depths of the ocean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s turned off the engine now, the boat coasting slowly to a stop and he reaches for the first trap. Empty. He’s not surprised. They’re always empty these days. But it doesn’t stop the disappointment and the anxiety from washing over him with each empty crate he throws back into the uncaring darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian looks up, his bleak thoughts interrupted by music being carried over on the wind. He’s so used to the emptiness and the aloneness of the water that it takes him a moment to realise that the soft tones are coming from Swan and not some disembodied sound. She’s humming to herself, a song he doesn’t recognize but the gentle notes that drift over to him are lovely and inviting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another moment she starts to sing, her voice high and clear and haunting. Even as he stands there he feels himself swaying towards her, the sound like a pull, connecting him to her and drawing him in with every note. It’s only when the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jolly</span>
  </em>
  <span> hits a particularly harsh wave that he realises he’d taken a step towards her. He shakes his head, grateful for the slight shower of water against his face as he snaps out of it and turns back to his trap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan is still singing when he pulls it up out of the water. “You’re bloody kidding me,” he curses, gazing down at the trap which is occupied by not one but </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> lobsters. Large ones too. This is more than he’s caught all week. His eyes shoot to the woman on the bow of his boat who’s turned to him now, offering him a concerned frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” she calls down. He shakes his head, setting the trap on the deck and pulling up the next one. Empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he says finally. It was a fluke. Swan looks at him a moment longer and then turns back to the horizon, her soft song carrying over the water. He pulls in a fourth trap. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he curses again. It’s not possible. It can’t be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian?” she asks, looking worried again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he says, looking at the full trap in disbelief. It’s a coincidence. They were already in the traps before she sang. They had to be. He looks at her again, her hair glowing with the absent sun once more, ethereal like a creature of myth. “Do me a favor, would you? Sing again.” She looks at him in confusion but does as he asks, resuming her song as she leans out over the water, reaching for its surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his breath as he pulls in his final trap, letting it out in an awed gasp as he takes in the near overflowing contents. “Bloody hell,” he laughs and Swan looks at him again. He smiles at her. “You bring me luck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do?” She practically skips down from the bow to join him, stopping at his side and taking hold of his arm as she glances over his shoulder to look into the trap. He tries to ignore the feel of her pressed against his side, her chin resting just below his shoulder as she grips his forearm. He fails. She doesn’t seem to mind though, tilting her head to look at him as he grins, too thrilled knowing he won’t have to worry about the cost of groceries this week and more than happy to have her wrapped around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” he smiles. “Will you sing again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t question it this time, turning back to the sea and carrying on her song and Killian goes about reeling in his net. Before they’re even all the way up he can tell by the strain in the knots that it’s heavier than it’s been in months. When it’s fully out of the water he curses again, shaking his head in disbelief at the haul he’s pulled in. Swan stops singing then, joining him at his side again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it a good haul?” she asks and he bursts out laughing in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye. A great haul.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smirks, crossing her arms smugly. “So maybe not bad luck after all, a woman on a boat.” He smiles at her, the wind is blowing her hair across her eyes and cheeks again and while his mind yells at him not to, he ignores it for once, reaching out and brushing it aside, tucking it behind her ear so he can see her face, shining with mirth and satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not,” he concedes. Right now, in this moment at least, he feels pretty damn lucky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that song you were singing?” Killian asks later when they’re coasting slowly, another net cast out. She isn’t singing now and somehow that makes him think it’ll likely be empty but he isn’t overly bothered; he’s already done better today than he has in ages and despite the impossibility of it, he can’t help but believe it’s due to the woman sitting across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she tells him, taking a spoonful of soup before passing him the bowl. He’d warmed the tin on the little camping stove in his cabin when her stomach had started to growl. Unfortunately he’d only been able to find one clean spoon and bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you remembered it,” he pushes, taking a spoonful for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must have,” she shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t recognize it,” he tells her and she smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither.” He rolls his eyes and she laughs. “Is that so unlikely? You not recognizing a song? Are you some sort of music snob?” He smiles at her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I was gonna be Freddy Mercury when I grew up,” he tells her, laughing at his own ridiculousness. He’d had such grand ideas as a boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you decided to become a fisherman instead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian shakes his head. “I didn’t really decide to become anything. Life just happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean? What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… lost some people,” he admits, reluctant to share the truth of how badly he’d messed up his own life, his own future. It’s been a long time since someone bothered to ask him about himself, since anyone cared to. Everyone in this damn town knows his entire history, most of them still hold it against him. And Alice, well, Alice is still too young to see her father as someone who exists and has a life outside of her. He dreads the day when she’ll learn the stories of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> she can’t live with him. He clears his throat. “I made some bad decisions when I was young,” he sighs. “And then Alice came along and well, wherever she is is where I need to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your daughter,” Emma clarifies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” When she doesn’t say anything for a while he brushes it off, uncomfortable with how vulnerable he’s made himself. “Anyway, nobody ever leaves this bloody island anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s lucky to have you,” Swan says then, reaching out and brushing his hand with hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that?” he asks and she shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look how well you’ve taken care of me. You didn’t have to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at her hand that’s still resting on his own. He knows what she means, that he had no obligation to help her and to put her up, but the reality of it is that he already can’t imagine his life without her in it. He’s felt responsible for her since the moment he met her and it’s not once felt like a burden. “Yes I did,” he says and a soft, almost pained look crosses her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long, weighted moment, she pulls her hand back and rests it under her chin. He misses it immediately. “I wonder who I was going to be when I grew up,” she says wryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian smiles at her. “Something wonderful, I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that?” she asks, echoing his words back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian sets the bowl down reaching out for her. “Give me your hand,” he says and she looks at him strangely before placing her fingers in his. He takes a moment to appreciate the softness of her skin against his own before he turns her palm up and studies it. He traces a line that runs along the pad of her thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This line here, that’s your life line,” he tells her, feeling his ears and his cheeks burning as she looks at him in disbelief. “You see how deep it is?” She nods, looking closer. “That means a life lived to its fullest. Not an easy one necessarily, but a life truly lived.” He glances up and sees the curiosity and the interest in her eyes so he goes on. “This,” he traces a line near the center, “is your fate line. It can change but right now, it says you’re facing changes and circumstances beyond your control.” She huffs out a laugh. “But it’s split,” he tells her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means that you still have control over where you’ll go next.” Her fingers curl a little, eyes watering and her teeth catch her lip as she holds back the tears and he regrets his words immediately. He’d meant to make her feel better, not worse. “I’m sorry. I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she shakes her head. “Don’t.” After a moment she offers him a small smile. “Thank you.” He releases her hand and she sits back, looking at her own palm and tracing the fate line for a moment. “How do you know how to do that?” she asks finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother taught me,” he says, the memory of her bittersweet. He remembers her sitting with him, stroking his palm and promising him great, wonderful things whenever he was upset. “She always believed in magic. Fairy tales and Happily Ever After and all that.” Maybe too much, he thinks. It didn’t do her much good in the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is she now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She died when I was young.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright.” He scratches the spot behind his ear. “Talking about her makes it feel like she’s still here, like I could bring her back to life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you did for me,” she adds and he grins, nodding. After a moment she reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling it to her and tracing the lines of his palm studiously. Killian sucks in a breath at the brush of her fingers against his skin, her thumb gliding over the inside of his wrist. “What’s this one?” she asks and he swallows against his dry throat, his words coming out rasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s - that’s the heart line,” he says awkwardly. She strokes it a few more times before looking up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s deep,” she tells him and he nods. His mother had always pointed that out too. He can’t read her expression as she studies him, her fingers still playing against his palm. “That makes sense,” she says finally and it sends his heart racing against his ribs. He can hardly look at her. He feels like she’s stolen the breath from his lungs and it’s all he can do not to reach across the space between them and pull her to him, desperate to feel her lips against his. His skin feels like it’s on fire and he wants more of it, wants to burn under her touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she takes him by surprise, lowering her head and placing a kiss to the center of his palm. He stares at her, disbelief and desire warring inside of him as she keeps watching him with that indecipherable expression. He turns his hand in hers, taking hold of her fingers and running his thumb over her knuckles. He hears her shaky intake of breath and it emboldens him. Reaching out with his free hand and cupping her cheek, he lets his thumb trace the line of her bottom lip the way he had her knuckles. They part under his caress and she leans into the space between them ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She starts suddenly, gasping as a boat roars behind them. He jumps to his feet watching it pass, the passengers raising a hand in friendly hello, but Swan has already thrown herself to the floor, tucking herself against the side of the boat and making herself small. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan?” he asks, kneeling quickly before her and taking her arms in his hands. “Are you alright?” His mind is still playing catch-up to the dramatic shift in mood but he knows that she’s scared and that he needs to help, even if he doesn’t know why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns panicked eyes on him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did they see me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she demands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” She’s practically trembling and he doesn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” she says finally, letting out a breath of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it be so bad if they did?” he asks finally, trying to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” He wants so much to understand but he can’t. What is she hiding from? If she can’t remember her past, what does she have to be afraid of?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t know,” she says finally, quietly. “But… they can’t.” Her eyes are imploring, desperate for him to accept her weak explanation. He sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” She looks so relieved it pains him. “We have to head back,” he says, noting the dimming sun and checking his watch. “I need to drop our catch off at the fishery and then pick Alice up from school.” What he means is he has to go by the school a half hour after class has let out and check to see if Eloise forgot again, or worse, if she decided to let their seven year old walk home alone. “You can stay in the cabin the whole way back. Nobody will see you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods, letting him help her to her feet and ducking into the cabin. The trip home is quiet, Swan still looking jumpy and Killian still feeling helpless and completely clueless as to why she’s so afraid to be seen… by anyone but him, apparently. When they’ve reached the dock and he’s tied up the dingy, she turns to head back to the cottage, arms crossed and fisted in the elbows of her sweater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t I count?” he asks finally, calling after her when she’s stepped back onto land. She turns and looks at him with her head cocked. “I’ve seen you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She worries her lip for a moment before meeting his eyes. “You’re the only one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words wash over him like the waves crashing below his feet, confusing and exhilarating and stirring new desires he hadn’t dared to even dream of feeling again inside of him. He doesn't know what to say. “Okay," is all he manages. She holds his gaze awhile longer as she steps back towards the cottage and finally turns and runs the rest of the way up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian is left standing on the dock, watching her go and replaying her words over and over. Words that echo the way he’s felt since he first met her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the only one</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The minute he pulled her up in his net he knew his life would be different. But he hadn’t been prepared for how different. For the first time in his grey, dreary life, he can feel the sun breaking through, breathing life and dreams and warmth back into the places where there was only numbness. Killian rubs at the heart line on his palm and for the first time in decades, he lets himself start to hope.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s thirty minutes past the bell when Killian arrives at Alice’s school. He’s careful walking up the path to the playground, making sure that Eloise is nowhere to be found. When he’s sure she’s not, he makes his way over to the play structure where he finds Alice hanging upside down from the monkey bars. She’s reading; it looks like her science textbook. He takes a moment to stare at her, eyebrow cocking up incredulously at how strange and wonderful she is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, love,” he tells her. “If you stay like that for too long, your brain might fall right out of your head.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snaps the book shut, looking up at him and he leans over to try meet her eyes. She gives him a big toothy grin and then narrows her eyes at him. “My brain can’t fall out of my head,” she says with all the certainty of someone three times her age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” he presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Teacher says so. She also says that hanging upside down won’t make me smarter, but I don’t believe her. All the blood rushes to your head like this and Ms. Blanchard says blood makes all the organs in your body work and grow. So it makes sense. If all the blood is in my head, then I’ll have to get smarter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian laughs. “Well I can’t fault your logic,” he tells her. “But it will also make you dizzy, so why don’t we get you right side up for a while, let some of your other organs have a turn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods and, to his absolute horror, drops down from the bars, managing to flip over on her way and land on her feet. Bloody hell, she’s going to give him a heart attack someday. She retrieves her bag from where she left it in the sand and joins him, ready to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Mum?” she asks as they walk along the sidewalk in front of the building. She’s attempting to jump from one seam to the next, but her legs aren’t quite long enough. Killian tenses, not wanting to lie to her, but knowing Eloise likely forgot would only hurt her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She couldn’t make it,” he tells her. “So I came instead.” There, it’s not technically a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she still sick?” Alice asks and Killian frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was she sick this morning?” he asks, assuming any illness Eloise dealt with this morning was more likely induced by mixing whiskey and rum than a virus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” she says and his lip ticks up at her obvious mimicking of his own speech patterns. “She was too sick to take me to school.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you get here?” he asks, trying to keep the seething rage that’s already building in him from showing. Alice merely shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I walked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By yourself?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that far, Dad,” she insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve told you to call me if that happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs again. “I asked Mum if I could see you after class, but she said you were too busy doing other things. She wouldn’t tell me what they were. Just that they were more important. So I figured you must have been doing them this morning too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to strangle the woman. The way Alice speaks makes him certain that she’s quoting her mother verbatim. The idea that his daughter could even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that something is more important to him than her makes his heart clench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What could possibly be more important than you?” Killian asks as he scoops down and lifts her under her arms on her next jump, sailing her across from one seam to the next and she laughs. He keeps her trapped for another second, squeezing and making her giggle and squirm away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk in silence for a while, Alice stopping periodically to collect a rock or a flower or a snail that she finds particularly interesting and Killian carries every one diligently. One snail is crawling up his wrist and into his sleeve when she speaks again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what happened next?” He frowns in confusion. “With the girl in the net,” she explains. “That can’t be how the story ends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he says, his palm tingling again with the memory of Swan’s lips pressed against it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Alice presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She sings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye. She sings to the fish and they swim into his net.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fisherman’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From the story?” She’s looking at him skeptically and he nods. “That makes sense,” she decides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. It’s how they communicate. Singing travels better underwater.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selkies, of course,” she says, the ‘keep up, Dad’ unspoken but clear and he stifles a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, selkies.” He tries to keep the curiosity out of his voice, to remind himself that this is just for her, that it’s not serious as he asks, “What else do you know about selkies?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice beams. “Selkies live deep in the water where it’s coldest. That’s why they have their seal coat - to keep warm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Well, the cold doesn’t seem to bother her,” he muses almost more to himself as he remembers the woman sitting on his boat, her bare arms goose pimply and damp in the mist and the wind, a smile on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woman from the story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> story?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of him. “You’re making it up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. For you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t look convinced. “So is she a selkie then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She could be. How would I know?” he asks, wanting to shake himself for the genuine wonder. She’s just a woman. She’s not a sea creature. No matter how unpredictable and unreal she may seem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’d have to find her seal coat. Unless she’s already buried it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would she bury it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because if a selkie buries her seal coat on land she can stay there for seven years. Unless her selkie husband comes to claim her. But then he’d have to find her coat, so she’d have to hide it well.” Alice, who had been looking pensively at the ground as she walked now turns serious eyes on him. “Does she have a selkie husband?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he admits. “She doesn’t remember anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She lost her memory?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, in the water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She should be careful then. The fisherman should find her coat and hide it so that her husband can’t make her go back with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something seizes in his throat then. While this might be a story, he can’t ignore the very real fear that’s been haunting him since he first pulled Swan out of the water: that she’d leave, that she’d remember she had someone else to go back to, that someone would come find her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can get too lost in his own anxiety though, Alice questions him again. “Are you sure this is a story, Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows. “Aye,” he says, because it has to be. Because if it’s real, if she really is some magical creature who’s come into his life and changed it so intangibly in the few days he’s known her, if she is someone who could be taken from him at any moment, if she could slip back into the ocean without a goodbye at any moment… He’s not sure his already well-battered heart could handle a blow like that. It might just be the final one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s still watching him skeptically and he gives her a forced smile. They reach Eloise’s street then and Killian walks her halfway along the road until he’s far enough away that her mother won’t see him from the front windows, but close enough that he can watch Alice go the rest of the way and make sure she gets in safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even want to think of the wrath he would ignite in Eloise if she found out he’d picked Alice up on a day that wasn’t ‘his’. She’d rather Alice walk home alone than with him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a good night,” he tells her as he hugs her goodbye. “I’ll see you this weekend.” This weekend </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> his, and it’s one of the few times where Eloise can’t do a thing about him spending time with his daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you tell me more of the story then?” she asks, and she’s so excited about it that he can’t bring himself to deny her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, wondering what new things he’ll have to tell her by then, what new mysteries and secrets his Swan will reveal to him. He thinks of asking her to join him on the boat again tomorrow. How different it was, having her there with him today. The grey and the damp brightened, the melancholy kept at bay by her wonder and excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d always felt a strange sort of polarization for the sea, an inexplicable call, a draw to its vastness, its mystery and wonder, and a resentment of the days in and days out it steals from him. But with her, the days didn’t feel stolen. Perhaps it was her that had been calling, the sea creature dwelling in its depths, waiting for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only nods, kissing the top of her head and reminding her that he loves her as he watches her dash off in the direction of her house. It’s only once she’s waved from the end of the driveway that he waves back and takes his leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances at his watch, noting that he could really use a new one. It’s worn and old and the glass is beginning to chip. But watches cost money and that’s something he doesn’t have. Another thing he doesn’t have is time. While he’d love nothing more than to head back to his cottage and see what Swan is up to, to spend some time with her and find out more about her, he has somewhere to be. And while he may not want to be there, he needs to be, for Alice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always for Alice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but today, maybe just a little for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because as much as her words keep playing over and over in his head - </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re the only one</span>
  </em>
  <span> - a part of him needs to tell someone, needs to confide in someone who isn’t his daughter, someone who doesn't think she’s made up. He needs to tell someone, even if he promised he wouldn’t, because the longer he keeps her a secret, the longer he tells himself she doesn’t exist outside of his head and outside of his home, the more he worries that it might be true, that he imagined her, and that if he isn’t careful, she’ll disappear just as inexplicably as she appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The church isn’t far - again, nothing is very far in this town - and it’s not long before he finds himself standing outside of it. He still feels uncomfortable here. He never came as a child, apart from his mother’s funeral, and his brother’s when he was older. And after that, well, this place has always been a gathering place for the town, a church yes but also a town center, a meeting place, a shelter… a place of community. And the community here had cast him out long ago. If not for David and Mary Margaret and their good word, he’s sure most of the townsfolk wouldn’t even look at him. They didn’t used to, not when he first came back from that hellhole on the mainland, not outside of the pub anyway. Not aside from people like Eloise, like Gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to come in?” Archie says, standing in the doorway and offering him a patient, knowing smile. Even that makes him uncomfortable, that sense of being known, of being understood by someone who is still a stranger to him. While the Father might know everything about Killian, Killian knows nothing about him and it unsettles him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Archie is kind, and he’s been supportive of him since David recommended he start seeing him in an attempt to build a strong character reference for when the time comes to fight for custody of Alice again. There are no shrinks in this town, no social workers or family counselors. There isn’t even a chapter of AA. So Archie wears all hats. And Killian is grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you, Father?” Killian asks as he walks in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thank you. You just missed Mary Margaret. She and her students are organizing the charity regatta this weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds lovely,” Killian says, though he knows he won’t go. Archie leads him to one of the pews and gestures for him to sit down before sliding in beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you could bring Alice,” Archie suggests. “I’m sure she’d enjoy it. It would do you good to be seen out and about with her, to have people see how much she loves you, how good you are for her.” Killian lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Why is that funny?” Archie asks, not letting him get away with anything. Ah, so it’ll be that kind of chat then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that David said something similar to me the other night. About being good for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think you are?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I’m better for her than Eloise. Anyone would be better for her than that woman. But I have this fear, Father.” He takes a shaky breath. Something about speaking to this man always leaves him spilling his deepest secrets faster than he could imagine, and whether he intends to or not. “I want her so badly, more than anything. But the idea of having her, of getting to actually be her dad, it terrifies me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because what if I fuck it up?” he asks bluntly. “What if I’m shit at it and I mess her up? How do I know that I can actually do it? How do I know I can be good for her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie shrugs. “You don’t,” he says and Killian looks at him in disbelief. “You can’t know. Not until you try. But the fact that you want to, that you’re so afraid of not living up to what you believe she deserves, tells me that you’ll try harder than anyone else would. And that’s all you can do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian nods, Archie’s words oldly comforting despite their ambiguity, and leans his elbows on his knees, his thumb rubbing at his opposite palm in soothing strokes, back and forth along the heartline. “Thank you,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not sure he agrees, but he can’t argue his point either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie smiles and they sit in silence for a moment as Killian debates telling him about Swan. He needs to, he knows he does, because he’s already half convinced that he’s losing his mind. But telling someone after she begged him to keep her hidden, to keep her a secret, after how scared she was today on the boat when the other ship went by, it feels like a betrayal. He told Alice, but that was a story, a fantasy. This is different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something else is troubling you,” Archie says and Killian can’t bring himself to look at him just yet, still too conflicted over his decision. But after a moment, he nods in acknowledgment. Archie waits for him to speak something, never one to push unless he needs to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… met someone,” he says finally, “a girl.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fantastic, Killian,” the priest starts, a smile lighting up his face and Killian winces. “Is she someone from town?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “No, definitely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you meet her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winces again. “I fished her from the sea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie stares at him in disbelief. “And by that you mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean that I pulled her up in my net.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s there to understand? She was drowning, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> drowned. And I pulled her out of the water and… brought her back to life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian that’s -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how it sounds, Father,” he says, exasperated. “But it’s the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this woman, where is she now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “At my house. That is, if I didn’t dream her up.” Archie hums, mimicking his pose as he brings his thumbs to his lips and thinks, clearly thrown by this information. “There’s more,” Killian tells him and while he looks surprised, to his credit Archie only looks at him and waits. “She doesn’t remember who she is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian, she might need medical attention-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve tried! But that’s the thing… she doesn’t want to be seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean she’s not just staying at my place. She’s hiding. She’s afraid of anyone knowing about her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long pause before Archie speaks again. “But you’re telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, because it’s private. Because you can’t tell anyone. Because of the…” He waves his hand, forgetting the term.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seal of confessional,” the other man fills in, distracted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why are you telling me?” he asks and Killian frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just told you. Because of the seal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Killian, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you telling me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian’s chest tightens. That long forgotten familiar feeling sparking, and with it the doubt, the insecurity, the fear. But he can’t tell him that. Not yet. So instead he says, “Do you remember that story? About the king who had a secret, and it drove him mad, so he told it to the tree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so I’m a tree then?” Archie asks mirthfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Killian smirks. “You’re a tree.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slips out into the water, sighing as the cold hits her waist before she sinks under the surface and lets it swallow her whole. She likes it there, under the waves, the dark and the stillness and the cold blocking out everything, all the noise and the unknown until there’s only her left - whoever that might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries, as she has been trying since Killian pulled her from the water yesterday. God was that only yesterday? It feels like a lifetime ago. If she weren’t under the surface she’d laugh. She supposes it was a lifetime ago, an old life, one she doesn’t remember, one that restarted when she met him, when he saved her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of her wants to keep it that way. It scares her sometimes, not knowing anything, not remembering anything, but everything she has learned since she woke up, since she came back to life really, has been magical. That’s the only way she can think to explain it. This man, this beautiful, sad, unreal man fished her out of the sea and breathed the life back into her in so many ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been afraid when she first woke up, confused and lost and alone. But then he’d been there, gentle and kind and somehow just as afraid. But he was kind and honest. She didn’t know how she knew but she was certain that he’d been sincere, that he’d had no ulterior motive in helping her, that she could trust him. So she had. And he’d already proven himself to her again and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels safe with him, like nothing bad can touch her so long as he’s near. Like he wouldn’t let it. He’s like her own knight in shining armor, right out of a fairytale. She smiles then, thinking of how he looked behind the wheel of his ship. Or maybe a pirate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The allure of continuing to forget, of letting whatever it was she abandoned in the water stay where it was buried is strong. Especially as she can’t shake the feeling that whatever she’s forgotten is worse, is wrong, that she’s better off without it… that it’s not worth remembering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she can’t. She knows she can’t because of this feeling, this overwhelming, uncontrollable, terrifying feeling that something or someone is out there looking for her. And they can’t find her. She doesn’t know who they are or what they want or what she may have done but she does know that if they find her, something terrible will happen. So she needs to hide, she needs to stay safe and out of sight, because they’re coming. She knows they are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezes her eyes shut under the water, turning to swim out towards the small dock a little ways from the shore, attempting to clear her mind. A boat goes by while she’s swimming, far enough that she’s not in any danger but the speed sends a wake rippling after it and the waves jostle her, throwing her around under the surface, disorienting her and causing her to panic as she searches for which way is up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fly open, looking frantically around. And she sees something. Something that can’t possibly be there. A man, a face she doesn’t recognize, smiling at her. And then he’s gone. She sees a boat next, the bottom of one, as though she were hiding beneath it. But it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared again. Her arms clutch to her chest as she tries not to scream, tries not to let the water into her lungs. She should have something, something she was carrying, something she lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she tumbles and rolls in the water she finally sees the light of the surface. Using all her strength to stop herself, she puts all of her focus on swimming up to the surface. Not again. She won’t drown again. There’s no one here to fish her out but herself. And she does. Clawing to the surface and gasping a deep, ragged breath, paddling out to the dock to hang on tightly as she catches her breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hooks her elbows over the edge, resting her chin on her hands and letting her heart rate settle back to normal. She’s fine. She’s alive. She focuses on what she can feel, the cold on her skin, the water lapping against her shoulders and dripping down the sides of her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The things she saw in the dark weren’t there… but they were real. They may have been real. She can feel them, floating around the edge of her mind, demanding to be remembered, but before she can they get lost, swallowed up by the sea that tried to swallow her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe the land’s not done with you yet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She smiles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> real</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she feels a cold prickle down her spine, on the back of her neck, and it’s not the water. Someone is there, someone is watching her. She whips around, looking over her shoulder. There’s a figure on the shore, standing just at the edge and for a moment her heart seizes, wondering if whoever was looking for her has found her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she looks more carefully. She’s not afraid. Somehow she knows not to be. She narrows her eyes, trying to see the shape more clearly. It’s small, a child, she realises, a little girl from the looks of it. She tilts her head, curious at who this kid could be, at what she’s doing here. Slowly, carefully, she releases the dock and swims towards land, staying above the surface this time as though looking away might make her disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once her feet can touch the ground she can make out the girl more clearly, her messy blonde hair and her awkward skinny limbs. The breeze whips at her coat and her shirt but she doesn’t seem bothered by the chill. Instead she’s smiling, triumphant and self-satisfied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you were real!” the girl calls as she continues to wade through the water towards her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it wasn’t a story. It couldn’t be. Usually his stories are better. This one was so muddled. He couldn't keep anything straight. I knew it couldn't be made up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The story?” she asks, even more confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That my dad told me. About the girl from the net.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stays in the water, a safe distance from the girl, almost jumpy, like she’s been caught, like the child knows something about her she shouldn’t. Then it dawns on her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My dad.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad is Killian?” she asks, finally stepping out into the cold air, and the girl nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Alice,” she says, reaching her hand out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches out wearily. “Swan,” she tells her. Alice takes her hand and then immediately turns it over, looking carefully between her fingers and along her palm. “What are you doing?” she asks as the girl pokes at her water-wrinkled skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inspecting you for webs,” Alice explains casually and she laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To rule out other creatures of course. Sirens are supposed to have webbed fingers; some say mermaids do too, but not selkies. That confirms my theory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Alice says, making her raise an eyebrow at how much she sounds like her father. “If you want to confirm a theory, you need to disprove all alternatives.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m a selkie then?” she asks, still confused but charmed by this precocious little girl, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Killian’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> little girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on now,” she answers. “Let’s not pretend. We both know you are. And if we’re going to be friends then we need to be honest with each other. Dad always says you can’t lie to people if you want them to trust you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we going to be friends?” she asks, smiling despite herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then,” she agrees, grabbing her towel from where she left it on the shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you cold?” Alice asks and she shakes her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. Just wet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. You must be used to it, from being under the water all the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” she hums. She’s not wrong. The cold hasn’t bothered her since Killian fished her from the icy depths. She doesn’t know if it used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s why you sing too,” Alice continues. “Because singing travels better underwater.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it does,” she concedes, drying her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about your seal coat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My seal coat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh please don’t pretend,” Alice chastises. “I’ve been studying selkies. I know all about you. But you’re the first one I’ve met and I have a lot of questions for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she starts. “But I don’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, of course!” Alice says then. “You must have forgotten about it when you lost your memory.” She wonders then how much Killian told this girl about her. She can’t bring herself to be upset though. He knows how much he loves his daughter, even from his few brief mentions of her. And she imagines Alice would be a difficult child to keep a secret from. And he told her she was a story, a fairytale. It makes her smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may have lost it when you decided to come on land,” Alice continues. “It’s something important. You had to keep it safe. You wear it in the water and you need it here on land so you can bury it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns, hands clutching the towel to her chest, bunching it up as she heads up to the cottage, Alice hot on her heels. Her fingers tighten around the fabric, remembering the feeling in the water, the feeling of holding something, of having lost it. Something important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they step inside, Alice’s eyes go wide. “You cleaned the place,” she says softly. “Like Snow White,” and then softer, “just like a fairytale.” She looks lost for a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Alice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes snap up. “I should go. My mum will be wondering why I’m not home yet.” She turns but then hesitates in the doorway. “Don’t tell my dad I was here,” she asks. “Not yet. He worries that my mum will be upset if she thinks I’ve been spending too much time with him. And that she might not let me see him then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods despite her chest tightening and her eyes watering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She lives with her mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was all Killian had told her. She wonders how much more there is to this story. The thought of him being kept from anyone he loves breaks her heart, not when he’s got so much of it to give. She heads back inside as Alice runs off down the path, oversized backpack bouncing behind her. She turns on the kettle and takes the tea out of the cupboard. And then the sugar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell have you been?” Eloise asks over her shoulder, not bothering to take her eyes off the TV as Alice walks in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Researching,” she answers, heading into the fridge and taking out a beer. She opens it and leaves the lid on the counter before bringing it to her mother in the living room. Her nose scrunches in distaste at the smell. Eloise takes the beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t those damn fairies again, was it?” she demands, finally turning to look at her. She points a finger into her daughter’s face. “Your dad needs to stop filling your head with these crazy ideas. Fairies aren’t real. It’s better you learn that now than later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t fairies,” she mumbles and her mom frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t fairies,” Alice repeats louder, though reluctantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no? So what was it then? Unicorns?” she laughs. “Leprechauns?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” she says, quietly, hoping Eloise won’t hear. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, turning to her with curiosity and annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eloise takes her chin between her thumb and finger, making her face her. “What were you off looking for when you should have been home. Were you with your dad? Did he come see you when he wasn’t supposed to? I swear to god if he did I-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t Dad,” she says then, a little desperately. “I was researching!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Researching what?” Eloise demands again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selkies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother scoffs, finally dropping her chin. “Those aren’t real.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are too!” Alice insists before she can stop herself. She bites her lip, wincing as the older woman lets out a barking laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Saw some lady with a tail and a seashell bra? Did your dad have some friends over last time you were there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t have a tail. She’s a selkie, not a mermaid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eloise, who had been dismissive and mocking, suddenly turns suspicious. “Who doesn’t have a tail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice sucks in a breath, realising what she said and scared now that her mom will find out about the girl from the water. “Nobody,” she says, looking away, fixating on her shoes. “They’re not real. It was just a story.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can feel Eloise still watching her and worries she might ask more questions but instead she just says, “Go do your homework or something,” and waves a hand dismissively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice rushes into her room, pushing the door shut firmly behind her and sitting at her desk. She only hesitates for a moment, making sure she hears her mom turn the volume up on the tv before she pulls one of the books she got from the school library today. The cover has a beautiful woman on it, sitting on a rock in the middle of the sea, water crashing all around her. She opens the book and starts reading. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun is setting in the harbour when the ship pulls in. It’s not a passenger vessel, those only travel to this island from the mainland on very rare occasions. Apparently everyone who lives here owns a boat or knows someone who does. But the man was able to barter a ride with the captain of a vessel heading to collect the catches from the day before bringing them back to sell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates it here. It’s cold, his hair and coat already damp from the mist that seems to constantly be splashing off the water’s surface or hanging in the air around him. A few people stare at him as the boat docks, and he does his best to duck his head, trying to keep himself from standing out. But this town doesn’t see many strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the collar of his jacket up around his neck as he steps onto shore. He looks at his watch, the shiny, expensive surface of it foggy with the weather and in sharp contrast to his worn sleeves. He frowns, looking out at the nondescript houses and buildings before him. He grew up in a small town like this. He hated it then and he hates it now. But he’s looking for something. And he’s not leaving until he finds it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for helping me through all my insecurities about this fic &lt;3 you're such a lovely beta and person &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for helping me through all my insecurities about this fic and for editing my terrible sentence structure! You’re such a lovely beta and person &lt;#</p><p>Thank you as well to @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Killian tries to control the racing of his heart as he makes his way up the path to his cottage, grocery bags balanced awkwardly in his arms and on his hip. He bought way too much. There’s no way the two of them will eat all of this before it goes bad, but he doesn’t know what she likes. <em>Do selkies eat poptarts</em>? He certainly doesn’t, but Alice does. And she’s not a selkie. He thinks. But he so wants to make her happy. So he got a little bit of everything.</p><p>He’d stood in the grocery store more lost than he’d ever felt, staring at the unending aisles of choices. He’s never been much of a cook. Lucky for him, Alice’s tastes have always been simple. He feeds her mac and cheese from a box, frozen pizza, pre-cooked roast chickens when he can afford them, always making a point to hide as many vegetables on her plate as possible but almost always failing to sneak anything past his clever daughter. </p><p>On his own he’d have survived off of canned goods and frozen dinners were it not for the kindness of his friends. Mary Margaret had a habit of sending David by with leftovers, always guilty of <em> accidentally </em> making more food than the two of them could eat. </p><p>Early on he’d tried to refuse, but he’d quickly learned that his friend’s wife was a force to be reckoned with and not partial to taking no for an answer. <em> ‘It will go to waste </em>,” she’d insist, practically shoving tupperware into his hands when he picked up Alice. </p><p>He’d learned over the years to accept their generosity for what it was, kindness, not charity. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to care about his well being. It felt nice to be cared for. The feeling had been far too absent in his life. </p><p>But that still left him at an impasse for what he could possibly offer the woman staying in his home tonight. He’d survived so long off boxed food and Mary Margaret’s dishes that he’d been at a loss for what to even buy. He’d have no idea how to put something together using the ingredients. The best he could manage was pouring a jar of marinara sauce onto sticky, over-cooked pasta. </p><p>But then he’d remembered the mornings spent with his mother in this very kitchen, when his father and brother still slept, neither of them early risers. On those mornings when he didn’t have school to rush off to and it was only the two of them, she would turn music on softly and make breakfast, letting him mix the batter, even letting him ruin a pancake or two in his attempts to flip them, proud smile on her face when he succeeded. He could still remember the recipe now, ingrained in his memory forever like the songs she would hum along to. </p><p>So, in addition to the poptarts and mac and cheese, he’d picked up flour and eggs and butter, and even some strawberries that looked good despite being out of season. He just really, really hopes she likes pancakes. </p><p>He hesitates, as he always does now, before going into the cottage, bracing himself for the fact that she may not be there. He thinks of the way she panicked when that boat had gone by earlier, her desperation not to be seen - by anyone but him - and he worries once again that he made her up, dreamed her into existence out of his loneliness. Why else would she choose him? <em> You’re the only one </em>. The words carry on the wind into his heart and even the memory of it makes his heart race. </p><p>When he steps inside she’s in the living room, sat on the couch with the small TV on and drying her hair. Her skin isn’t pink from the shower and he wonders if she went swimming. He shivers at the very thought, remembering the freezing water against his face this afternoon. She looks up as he walks through the door, smiling brightly and warming the whole room. </p><p>“You’re back,” she says, as though she’s been waiting. He doesn’t quite know how to handle the thought of her not only awaiting his return, but looking forward to it. He’s so used to coming back to an empty house, to solitude and quiet and cold. He feels his cheeks flush as he nods dumbly. “Let me help.” </p><p>She stands, draping the towel over the side of the sofa and crossing the room to him, another of his sweaters falling over her bare legs. She reaches for one of the bags he carries and her fingers brush his. Her skin is cold but her touch is soft, sending warmth seeping into his bones and chasing away the chill. </p><p>He thanks her as she takes the bag, missing the contact as soon as she pulls away. She smiles again, shyer this time as she begins unpacking, examining the items as she pulls them out one by one. She eyes the poptarts curiously and for a moment he wonders if she’s remembering them before she puts them in the cupboard next to the mac and cheese. </p><p>She sets to putting the fruit and vegetables away in the fridge, her back to him when he asks, “Are you hungry?” </p><p>Swan whirls around, an apple in hand, caught between her teeth, halfway through a bite. He raises an eyebrow at her, smirking. She laughs, finishing the bite, speaking as she chews. </p><p>“Starving,” she admits, laughing at herself. “I finished your cereal,” she adds, looking sheepish. </p><p>“That’s alright,” he promises, emerging from a bag with a new box. “I bought more. I’m sorry there hasn’t been much to eat,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m not much of a cook. I don’t keep much in the house and -”</p><p>“Killian,” she cuts him off with a wry smile. “I’m living in your home, wearing your clothes, and sleeping in your bed. Please stop apologizing. You’ve done more than enough.” </p><p>“Well,” he starts. “You still need to eat.” He searches for the old frying pan he knows is somewhere in one of the cupboards near the stove. He lets out a small cheer when he finds it, holding it up and smiling. “I hope you like pancakes.” </p><p>“I guess we’ll find out!” </p><p>She sits on the counter as he cooks, watching attentively and asking questions, about Alice, about some of the intricacies of the boat, and the fishing methods she saw him use today. </p><p>He tries not to laugh at the way she keeps haphazardly picking up some of the toppings he’d chosen for their meal and snacking on them as he cooks. She leaves the blueberries be, but eats half the bag of chocolate chips. At some point she finds the box of cereal he’d mentioned and begins eating straight from it. He makes a note to buy more. </p><p>“You should add cinnamon,” she suggests suddenly and he pauses. </p><p>“Cinnamon?” </p><p>“To the pancakes.”</p><p>“I don’t think I have any,” he tells her a little disappointed. “Is that something you do?” He doesn’t want to push, but he’s curious if any of her memories are emerging, if she’s remembering who she was or where she came from. He has a passing thought that he doesn’t think selkies eat cinnamon. </p><p>She frowns a little. “I don’t know. Maybe? It was just a thought.” </p><p>Killian nods. “Have you had any other thoughts?” She raises a brow at him. “Memories, I mean,” he corrects with a laugh. </p><p>She shakes her head but looks at the floor and he can tell she’s hiding something, withholding. He regrets asking. She has no obligation to tell him. Her memories, whatever she does or doesn’t recall, are hers to keep and not his to pry into. He just can’t help himself, though; he wants to know everything about her. Every answer she gives is another glimpse into the enigma that is the woman he can’t stop thinking about, that he can’t help being drawn to. </p><p>“My mom used to put berries on hers,” he says then and she looks at him with fond interest, clearly glad at the change in topic. “Alice prefers chocolate.” </p><p>“And what about you? What do you like?” </p><p>Killian shrugs. “Plain.” </p><p>“How very adventurous,” she teases and he laughs. </p><p>“I’m a simple man, Swan,” he says, his tone light but when he meets her eyes, she’s watching him carefully. </p><p>“No. You aren’t.” The way she says it makes each beat of his heart feel like it’s echoing through his chest, like it’s hoping to be heard and matched and joined. She’s smiling at him softly, head cocked, and he can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this - with <em> interest </em>. The same kind of interest he watches her with. Like he’s someone worth knowing.</p><p>He tries to rationalize, to assure himself that he’s making it up, seeing what he hopes is there, but she bites her lip, cheeks flushing as she tucks her hair behind her ear and turns her gaze to the stove. Her brow pulls down then. </p><p>“It’s burning!” </p><p>Killian’s attention snaps back to the pancakes, uttering a curse before flipping it with a flick of his wrist, a trick he taught himself as a boy. She laughs, that wonder and excitement back in her eyes. </p><p>“How’d you do that?” she asks. </p><p>“I can show you, if you’d like,” he offers. “This one’s ruined anyway.” She nods, hopping down from her spot on the counter. </p><p>He clears his throat, trying to control his body’s reaction to her as she comes to stand in the small space between him and the stove, taking hold of the frying pan and waiting for instruction. He feels like he did on the boat, teaching her to steer, overwhelmed by the nearness of her, the salty sweet scent of her hair damp against his chest. </p><p>He reaches around carefully, the front of him pressing against her back as he wraps his fingers over hers on the handle, guiding her movements and feeling her proud laugh deep in his chest when the pancake sails through the air and lands back in the pan. </p><p>She turns, beaming at him over her shoulder. “You’re just full of surprises.” </p><p>He scratches behind his ear, hardly able to breathe, let alone think straight with her so close, with so much of her pressed against so much of him, and more than that, at the fact that she doesn’t seem to mind one bit. “Nothing simple about you at all.” </p><p>He can feel his ears reddening. “We should eat,” he says, stepping back before he does something stupid, like kiss her, or imagine the look of disappointment in her eyes when he doesn’t. He’s sure he imagined it.</p><p>In the end, she does like pancakes and it sends a strange kind of pride through him to watch her practically devour them. She helps him with the dishes after, at her insistence, and he barely survives the way her fingers brush his when he passes her a plate or a cup to dry, or when her elbow or her hip bump his. </p><p>They’re sitting in the living room, he on the couch and she on the floor as he watches her pick through the collection of books that sit on the shelf below the television. It’s not a large collection by any means, a lot of them children’s books now, but each one was carefully chosen, held on to, passed down or gifted, and treasured by him for years. He likes the way she traces her fingers carefully over the spine of each, pulling them out to read the back, skimming the pages and giving them the attention he feels they deserve. </p><p>“What’s this?” she asks, pulling out a worn leather tome. He looks over, recognizing it immediately. </p><p>“Ah,” he starts, somewhat uncomfortably. “Alice has become quite a fan of painting. We do it together sometimes.” </p><p>Swan toys carefully with the corner of the book, loose pages sticking out at all angles, the cover forced shut with a leather strap tied around it. “Can I look?” she asks. He nods and she unwinds the leather, opening it and smiling at the images inside. </p><p>The first few pieces are Alice’s, blurry watercolour renditions of houses and fairies and other mythical creatures. She holds one up to him, a shoreline with a boat on it, one that’s clearly meant to be the <em> Jolly </em>. </p><p>“She’s good!” Swan says and he beams with pride, nodding. </p><p>“Aye, she is.” She continues looking through the paintings, smiling at each, and occasionally showing him one for clarification on what exactly it’s supposed to be. “I’ve no idea,” he laughs when she picks up one of her earliest pieces. “It might be a unicorn?” He frowns, squinting at the indecipherable blur. “Or a house?” </p><p>The next one she finds is more detailed, colours and shapes and tones coming together to form the coast that she can see out the window of the cottage, the greys and blues an homage to the dreary sky. The one after is a portrait, a little girl with a toothy smile and a raised brow that matches his own. </p><p>“Did you do these?” she asks, glancing at him before turning back to the paintings, expression a little awestruck and he fidgets awkwardly. </p><p>“Aye.” She shakes her head, smiling up at him with a look that’s both knowing and a tad mischievous. “What?” </p><p>“You really <em> are </em> full of surprises.” </p><p>***</p><p>When the evening turns into night and the air grows cold around them, Killian rises to light a fire. Swan makes herself comfortable on the sofa, finding a blanket and burying herself beneath it. Again he’s struck by how right it feels to have her here, to see her snuggled up on his sofa as he joins her, sitting on the other end with as much distance as he can between them. </p><p>She reaches out, untucking the blanket from around her toes and draping it over his lap and he smiles at the small, considerate gesture. She opens one of his books as he does the same and tucks her bare toes under his thigh as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. He likes it, having her here, next to him, using him for warmth. He could spend every night like this if she let him. </p><p>They sit in comfortable silence, both wrapped up in their novels and the warmth of the fireplace, the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore outside a rhythmic music drifting in through the windows. The rustle of pages turning a soft, pleasant reminder of her presence. </p><p>After a moment, she shuts her book, holding it carefully to her chest. “What are you reading?” she asks, genuinely interested. He holds the cover up for her to see. “Is it good?” He nods. “Will you read it to me?”</p><p>“Do you not like the one you’re reading?” </p><p>She shrugs, still holding it to her. “It got too sad. Is yours sad?” He shakes his head. “Good. Will you read it?”</p><p>He laughs softly but agrees, flipping back to the beginning to read. He’s used to it, reading aloud, having spent so much time with Alice turning page after page until she finally relented and went to sleep. </p><p>He reads for a long time, occasionally looking up to find her watching him carefully, studying him in a way that leaves him feeling unsteady, overwhelmed, desperate. He feels her gaze on him like a physical touch everywhere it passes, tracing the contours of his face, his brow and cheek, along his jaw and neck and to his hands each time he turns a page. </p><p>He feels it like he did her fingers against him, heat blazing on his skin and warming him through to his bones, drawing out the chill that’s lived there for decades, thawing the cold that settled in his chest over years of disappointment and loss and solitude. He feels alive again, burning and seen and perhaps even wanted. He’d forgotten what it was like. </p><p>After a while her eyes begin to drift shut and Killian slows his reading. He looks at the time. It’s not late per se, but they’ve been up since dawn and he knows how a day on the water can flood one’s limbs with a weariness that weighs like an anchor.</p><p>He shuts the book, turning to her to suggest sleep, only to find her watching him again. “What?” he asks, self-conscious under her gaze. </p><p>“You’re a good storyteller.” </p><p>He clears his throat. “Seven years of practice,” he says by way of explanation. </p><p>“I don’t seem to be very good at it,” she says, frowning at the book in her hand and he tilts his head, considering this new discovery. “I don’t know why. I can read it, it’s just… slow.” </p><p>He has a brief recollection of himself before Alice, leaving school, getting in with the wrong people, never finding time for things he considered as trivial as books, vision often too foggy to read as much as a menu most of the time. It wasn’t until his daughter was born, when his blood was clear of the drink and his eyes were clear of the darkness, that he’d bothered to try again. He couldn't give her much, but he could give her stories, and she <em> loved </em>stories. </p><p>His hand settles on her ankle over the blanket, wondering again what her life may have been before he found her. “That just means you need to practice.” </p><p>“Maybe. Or maybe selkies just don’t have any use for reading underwater.” Her tone is light, teasing, but her word choice makes him pause. </p><p>“Selkies?” he asks. That’s what Alice kept swearing she was. He thinks he imagines the flicker of guilt that crosses her features before she smiles at him, disarming and wholly enchanting.</p><p>“Maybe I’ll just have you read to me instead. I like it better when you do it,” she tells him, nudging at his thigh with her toes. He does his best not to blush. </p><p>“You do?”</p><p>She hums. “You have a good voice for it. It’s calming. Like the water,” she admits looking out the window where the waves still crash against the shore. He wonders that she would find it calming after nearly being swallowed up by it, a victim of it’s tempestuous rages. He wonders that she would find <em> him </em> calming, the man he was as brash and unpredictable and dangerous as a storm on the sea. </p><p>When her eyelids grow heavy again, Killian suggests they go to sleep. She nods in agreement, takes his hand when he holds it out to help pull her to her feet. As always, she is an enigma of cool touch and burning skin. He keeps his fingers around hers a fraction too long but she doesn’t pull away. </p><p>He offers to build a fire in the room again and he’s pleased when she accepts, if only because it makes the time before their goodnights stretch longer. She doesn’t say much, sitting behind him on the bed as he kneels before the hearth, her eyes on his back as he moves, adding logs and stoking flames. He entertains the idea of teaching her how to do it herself, but he likes doing this for her, feeling like he’s of some use, needed. </p><p>She thanks him when he’s finished, asking again that he’s sure he doesn’t want his room back. He dismisses the question. He’s spent enough nights on that sofa between Alice staying over and the restless nights where he found fitful sleep accidentally without making it to his bed. He doesn’t mind. It wouldn’t feel right to take the room, the mattress too big and too empty with her so close. </p><p>He takes his change of clothes from the drawer, noting that she’s already retrieved another of his flannels, holding it loosely in her lap as she watches him in that silent, curious way of hers.</p><p>“Goodnight, Killian,” she says when he reaches the door. “Thank you for the pancakes.” </p><p>He smiles uncertainly, the way she smiles at him, the way she looks at him as unsettling and electrifying as always. He <em> must </em> have dreamed her up. No one’s ever looked at him this way before - ever really seen him before. He wonders desperately what she finds in her gazes and her contemplation of him. He hopes he can measure up to whatever it is she’s searching for.</p><p>“Goodnight, Swan.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The next morning Killian’s up well before the sun, the last bits of smoke fading to nothing in the fireplace. The door to his room is still closed, no sounds on the other side and he does his best to be as silent as possible as he putters around the kitchen, setting water to boil before heading to the washroom to change and wash up. </p><p>When the kettle boils he hesitates, unsure if he should wake her before he goes, or leave her a note. The last thing he’d want is for her to feel abandoned in a strange house. He also considers a day out on the water alone, the dreariness and the silence. He’s spent years of his life like that, day in and day out alone and damp and cold with nothing but his thoughts to add to the misery that was the grey. But he remembers her on the prow of his boat yesterday, her smiles and her voice carrying over on the wind and dragging the misery from his chest with her light. </p><p>He takes out two mugs, making one cup black and one with milk and sugar before he crosses the small room to knock on her door. He hears the rustling of blankets, the soft creak of the wood under her feet until she’s cracking the door open, peering out at him with squinting, sleepy eyes and hair wild around her shoulders. His breath catches even as he winces, feeling guilty for waking her.</p><p>Her gaze is questioning, waiting, and so he hands her the tea he made her and a soft, half-asleep smile pulls at her lips. She wraps both hands around it, fingers encircling his own for a moment before she takes it from him and drinks, a small sigh leaving her. </p><p>“Thank you,” she mumbles, voice soft and dreamlike. </p><p>“I’m sorry to wake you,” he starts, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Only, I wondered if… you might like to join me again today.” </p><p>Her eyes light up. “On the ship?” </p><p>He smiles at her use of the word ship, an honour his <em> Jolly </em> is not quite worthy of. He nods and she beams, suddenly looking much more awake. </p><p>“Give me just a minute,” she asks before shutting the door and disappearing back into the room. Killian smiles to himself, thrilled at her eagerness, at the thought that she may have enjoyed their time together yesterday as much as he had. </p><p>He heads back to the kitchen, steps light and eagerly anticipating the day for the first time in decades. He gathers up some bread and meat and cheese he bought yesterday and throws them into a bag, glad they’ll have something better than a can of soup to share today. </p><p>Swan emerges a few moments later, cotton dress on under the flannel she slept in. She wears a pair of thick wool socks pulled up to her knees, stuffed into a pair of rubber boots he didn’t know were in the house. She looks beautiful, she always does, even in this hodge podge of borrowed pieces that swallow her frame whole. </p><p>She blushes a little under his scrutiny, toying with the hem of the dress. “I went through some more things yesterday while you were out. Found some stuff that mostly fit. I hope that’s alright.”</p><p>“Of course it’s alright,” he assures her. “This cottage is your home as long as you wish to stay.” She smiles despite her red cheeks. “Shall we?” She nods and then ducks quickly into the fridge, emerging with two leftover pancakes, one between her teeth and the other held out to him. He laughs. “No thanks, I’m alright. You have it.”</p><p>He’s shocked by how much she eats, how quickly too. She’s so small but devours every meal like it could be her last, never leaves anything unfinished, never ignores something left out and in reach. He hasn’t had much of an appetite for anything in years, often sufficing on one meal a day. Part of it was only having enough money to feed Alice. But he knows another part was just having grown used to hollowness, to emptiness, not bothering anymore to try to fill it.  </p><p>“You should eat something,” she says, taking her own pancake out of her mouth and holding the other out a bit more insistently. He smiles, touched that she cares, and takes it from her. He makes a show of biting into it and she nods her approval. </p><p>She grabs both their coats, as if she’s lived here for years, as if they do this all the time, and tosses his to him before throwing the other over her shoulders. She breezes out through the door into the slowly lightening dawn and he looks after her in amazement. </p><p>“Are you coming?” she calls, already halfway to the water. He chuckles to himself before following after her. Of course he is. He’s pretty sure he’d follow her anywhere. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>His nets had been full again. She’d sat on the deck of the boat and hummed to herself, braiding and unbraiding her hair, smiling over at him whenever she caught him looking, and laughing wildly when a particularly big wave splashed him. She’d been determined to help, asking which buttons and levers did what, pulling the net in with him and releasing the knot at the bottom when he instructed her on how. </p><p>“Do you always get such a big haul?” she’d asked, staring down at the full net in amazement.</p><p>Killian had smirked, shaking his head. “No. The last time my net was this heavy, you were in it.” She’d reached out and smacked him on the chest, eyes wide in feigned offence and he’d laughed. He laughs so much with her. </p><p>He offers once again to let her come with him to the fishery at the end of the day, his catch good enough that they’re even able to end the day a little early, the sun still relatively high in the sky as he reels in the last net. She shakes her head and he doesn’t push, her nervousness making him feel guilty. So he offers to drop her off first. </p><p>But once they’ve stepped off the dinghy she turns to him. “You’re soaking wet,” she points out. He reaches a hand to his hair, surprised to find that it is, in fact, plastered to his head. He’s so used to being damp, soaked through his skin that he hardly notices anymore.</p><p>“That I am,” he agrees. </p><p>“You should change before you go. Dry off,” she tells him. She rubs his arms, clearly trying to work some warmth back into them. “You’ll freeze.” </p><p>“I’m fine, love,” he assures her. “I’m used to it. I’m a fisherman.” </p><p>“Even fishermen get cold,” she answers, then reaches up and brushes his wet hair off his forehead. “Need to dry their hair.” Her fingers absentmindedly travel to the tips of his ears. “Your ears are red,” she says. He’s not sure it’s from the cold. </p><p>She’s so close to him that he gets lost in the smell of her hair, damp as well from the sea spray; he can see the droplets clinging to her eyelashes. She meets his eyes and they both pause, air heavy and tense between them. Killian can’t feel the chill anymore, can’t remember what it’s like to feel cold. Not when she’s holding him and standing so close. </p><p>She pulls her hand back, looking embarrassed as it hovers in the air between them. She steps back, but not as far as she maybe should. She balls a fist against his chest, nudging him a little and he sways back, chuckling. “They’ll turn blue soon!” she insists. </p><p>Maybe it’s just because nobody has shown this much concern about his well-being in a long time, or the worried frown still creasing her brow, or just the fact that going inside and taking five minutes to change is five more minutes spent with her, but he agrees. She smiles, looking proud and even smug, but she loops her arm through his and leads him back up to the cottage. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel cold again.  </p><p>He leaves her sitting on the sofa as he goes into the room, making a show of grabbing a towel before shutting the door and setting to drying off and getting some clean clothes out of the dresser. He can hear her moving around the kitchen and wonders what she’s doing until he hears the sound of running water and the thunk of the kettle being set on the stove. He smiles.</p><p>When he comes out she’s leaning against the counter, watching the water heat. He cocks his head at her. “Don’t you need to warm up too?” he points out. She may not have gotten hit with the giant wave, but her hair is damp from the mist and the sea spray and his flannel shirt that she wears is thin. </p><p>“Selkies don’t get cold,” she tells him with a mirthful smirk and a shrug, turning to reach for the mugs she seems to have deemed theirs. <em> There’s that word again </em>. He frowns, wanting to ask her about it when she tenses. Her head snaps up, looking towards the window in alarm before she dashes to where he stands, turning frantic eyes on him. </p><p>“Swan, what’s wrong?” he asks, frightened by her panic. </p><p>“Someone’s here.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Part Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for all your wonderful help with this fic. You’re such a lovely beta and person &lt;3</p><p>Big thank you as well to @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you!</p><p>Finally thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for the lovely aesthetic that made me start writing this fic again.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Someone’s here." </p><p>She looks outside again and Killian tenses. Nobody ever comes out here. Not unannounced. “Go into the bedroom," he tells her, absentmindedly stroking her arm. "I’ll see who it is.” </p><p>He does his best to stay calm. Surely it’s David or Mary Margaret come to say hello. They just forgot to call. But he can’t shake the feeling that her past has finally shown up, that someone has come to break apart this little world they’ve created for themselves over the last three days and he grieves it already. </p><p>Once she’s shut the door to the bedroom, Killian heads across the kitchen. He can hear it now, someone coming up the drive, steps light and quick like someone sneaking up, trying to avoid being seen. He opens the door, stepping outside in an attempt to keep whoever it is from coming in when suddenly the mystery visitor ducks out from the treeline. He lets out a sigh of relief. </p><p>“Alice,” he calls and her head snaps up. “What are you doing here? You know you’re not allowed to come without your mum’s permission.” The words burn in his throat as they do every time he has to say them, every time Alice disregards the custody rules set in place. </p><p>“Mum’s not home,” she shrugs. “Besides, I wanted to hear the rest of the story. Did she get her memories back?” Alice continues, ducking right under his arm and into the house behind him. He whirls around. His daughter might not be a threat or someone from Swan’s past coming to take her away, but she doesn’t want to be seen. </p><p>“Alice, wait,” he starts but she’s already headed into the kitchen and dragged a chair to the counter so she can boost herself up and reach the cabinet. She beams when she finds the Poptarts. She’s climbing down and ripping into the bag before he’s even reached her so he can make sure she doesn’t break her neck on the way. “Careful,” he warns but is, of course, ignored. She’s utterly unphased as he scoops her up under her arms to set her safely on the ground. </p><p>“So did she?” she asks again.</p><p>“Did she what? Who?” Killian’s head is spinning. </p><p>“The girl in the net,” Alice clarifies, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Really Dad, isn’t this supposed to be <em> your </em> story.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, now isn’t a good time.”</p><p>“Why not?” she asks and just then the kettle goes off. Alice looks at it and then at the two mugs next to the stove. Killian casts a slightly frantic glance at his bedroom door and her gaze follows him. “Do you have a friend over?” she cocks her head. “Is Ruby visiting? Why is she hiding? Are you doing grown up things again?” </p><p>Killian is going to have a heart attack. “No,” he answers, hoping that Swan didn’t hear anything. “What are <em> grown up things </em>?” </p><p>“I don’t know. You said you’d only tell me when I was older.” </p><p>“Alice I-” The door creaks open and Swan pokes her head out. Killian whirls around, shocked, and wondering how much of the conversation she overheard. She smiles shyly and Killian looks between her and Alice, who beams. How is he going to explain-</p><p>“Hello,” his daughter says, setting down her snack and heading over to greet the woman now stepping out of his room. </p><p>“Hello,” Swan answers. Killian stares at them both, unsure what to do or say, worried that this will make the woman staying with him feel betrayed, that it will traumatize his child in some way. But neither of them seem particularly angry or prone to holding this over his head in therapy, so he hesitates. </p><p>“Um, Alice, this is Swan. She’s staying with me for a bit.”</p><p>“Oh, we’ve met,” Alice says. Killian’s eyes snap to Swan who nods, looking guilty. When had they met? Why had neither told him? <em> Selkies </em>. Suddenly it makes sense. “Oh, don’t be upset,” his daughter continues dismissively. “I asked her to keep it a secret.”</p><p>“Do you think you could keep <em> me </em> a secret?” Swan asks then, casting a glance at him, as though asking for permission. He nods. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.” </p><p>“Why not?” Alice asks, frowning. And then her eyes widen in understanding. “Of course! Because of your seal coat!” Both the adults look at her in confusion. “You wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re here if you can’t remember where you left your seal coat. They could trap you.” </p><p>She casts an uncertain glance at Killian. He doesn’t want to lie to Alice, but he also doesn’t believe that he’d be able to talk her out of her certainty about Swan being a selkie if he tried. He clears his throat, absentmindedly stroking the back of his daughter’s hair. “Right. So let’s not tell anyone just yet, okay, love?”</p><p>Alice nods. “I did some research you know,” she starts. “Selkies aren’t dangerous. They’re not like mermaids. They save sailors from drowning rather than pulling them under. Which is strange since in this case it’s you who was saved from drowning. Although, I don’t know if you can actually drown if you’re a seal-woman…” </p><p>She continues on, rattling off facts and theories and rambling and Killian casts a hopeless, affectionate glance at Swan who is watching his daughter with patient interest. Alice has it backwards; he might have been the one who pulled her from the water, but it was he who’d been drowning. She’s reached through all the misery and the darkness he’d let himself surrender to and pulled him back to the surface, breathed air and life back into his lungs. </p><p>“And of course you can swim very fast and very long since you can breathe underwater,” Alice continues. “I wonder if you swim as fast as a seal? Although you were swimming without your seal coat. I don’t know what the rules are for a selkie in human form.” She frowns at Swan then. “Is it much much different? Swimming with human legs? It must be more difficult -”</p><p>“Do you swim, Alice?” she asks then and Alice shakes her head. </p><p>“No. I’ve never had lessons. And Dad can’t teach me.” Killian glances awkwardly at his feet and shrugs when Swan looks at him in surprise. But she doesn’t pry. Instead, she turns back to his daughter. </p><p>“Would you like to learn?” she asks. “... Unless you’re afraid of the water,” she suggests when Alice hesitates and there’s no challenge in her voice, no taunt, just understanding, like maybe she understands that fear. </p><p>“I wouldn’t be afraid of the water if I had a sea creature with me,” the girl beams and Swan returns it. </p><p>“I can teach you. If it’s okay with your dad.” </p><p>Killian had been watching the interaction between the two in stunned disbelief. The way she’s watching Swan, with awe and admiration and enchantment, he’s never seen Alice so taken with anyone in his life. He wonders if everyone who meets her instantly falls in love with her or if it’s just Joneses. </p><p>“Aye. It’s alright with me. But won’t you be cold?”</p><p>“It’s not that cold!” Alice insists and he can already see that there’s a tantrum brewing under the surface if he dares to deny her the chance to swim with a sea creature. </p><p>He tries to hide his smirk. “Alright, but the second your lips turn blue we’re coming in.” </p><p>He doesn’t think she’ll last very long. While the wind is mild today the water was still cold against his skin. No harm in a few minutes in the sea, he reasons, children here grow up with the cold in their blood and the water in their veins. He likes the idea of Alice learning to swim; he thinks he’ll sleep better knowing he doesn’t have to worry about her every time she wades out too far or is on the boat with him. </p><p>Swan reaches out and Alice takes her hand and the two head off out the door towards the shore. They’re still on the steps when Swan turns back to him. “Aren’t you coming?” she asks, as though it should have been obvious that he was invited. He’d assumed this was girl-bonding. He smiles, happy to be included. </p><p>It’s not until they reach the water and Alice kicks off her shoes and socks, dipping her toes in the chilly water that she turns to them both in panic. “I don’t have a swimsuit!” she realises. </p><p>“That’s alright. Neither do I,” Swan consoles her. </p><p>“What will we wear then?” </p><p>Swan considers this for a moment and then shrugs. “Underwear,” she tells her and then pulls her dress off over her head. </p><p>Killian’s mind suddenly goes blank, every thought and sound drowned out by the racing of his heart as his eyes cast over the long lines of her legs. His jaw drops, in shock, in awe, in disbelief. He watches the way her hair falls softly over the curve of her back, every smooth, pale inch of her on display and beautiful under his gaze, smile bright and shining as she laughs. She can’t be real. </p><p>It’s only when she turns to look at him, and her smile falters a little with curiosity, lip catching between her teeth, that he realises he’s staring. He’s suddenly far too aware of his limbs, feeling awkward and clumsy and like he’s taking up far too much space. </p><p>He darts his eyes away, staring fixedly out at the horizon as he tries to calm his racing heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as discreetly as he can to try to clear it. But he can’t get the image of her out of his mind. </p><p>He tries to focus on Alice as the two of them wade out into the water, his daughter letting out a shrieking giggle when the cold reaches her knees, her fingers white knuckled against the woman’s. Killian’s certain that if he just stays right here and doesn’t move, doesn’t let his gaze stray from the spot right in front of his feet, that he can get through this without making a fool of himself. </p><p>“Aren’t you coming in, Dad?” Alice calls and the blood drains from his face. </p><p>“It wouldn’t hurt you to learn too!” He glances over at them and Swan throws a look at him, the challenge in it raised with her brow. </p><p>He’d really, <em> really </em>rather not. He can barely handle the effect this woman has on him with all her clothes on. But he notices again the way Alice is clutching her hand, the slight nervousness to her posture despite her incessant bravery and he knows he has to. He kicks off his boots and his socks and leaves them on the shore before wading out after them. As soon as he reaches Alice, she clings tightly to his hand. </p><p>“You swim with all your clothes on?” Swan teases and he smirks.</p><p>“I don’t swim.” She rolls her eyes, clearly not letting him off so easily. “Little girls and selkies might not get cold, but fishermen do.” She laughs and, as the water reaches his hips and shoots ice up his spine, he’s glad he’ll have at least one less thing to worry about. </p><p>“Too bad.” She says it so softly he almost doesn’t hear it but his gaze snaps to hers, eyes wide. She’s focused on Alice now, asking if she’s feeling scared, and he wonders if he imagined it. </p><p>“Okay, lie back,” she instructs and lets go of the little girl’s hand so that she can brace one arm under her shoulders and one under her legs, Alice squishing his fingers between both of her hands. “You’re doing great,” Swan encourages even as his daughter flounders a little nervously, letting herself be held up. After a long moment, she finally lets go of his hand and tentatively trails her arms through the water, toes kicking gently and untested. </p><p>“I’m swimming!” she exclaims, nervous laughter bubbling out of her and Killian grins at her proudly. </p><p>“You are!” Swan agrees proudly. “Look at you go, you’re a sea creature!” </p><p>“You’re a natural, love,” he smiles at her. The two of them wade out a little further, Swan guiding the girl in circles, always holding her steady as she gets the hang of floating and he watches, amazed by how taken Alice is and how taken Swan seems to be as well. He’s never even dreamed of letting a woman into his life, not when that life includes Alice and he doesn’t even know if there’s room for someone else in his heart. But seeing them together, he can’t get over how perfectly she fits, or how much he likes it. </p><p>Suddenly, Swan stops, gaze darting down to her foot beneath the waves and he worries she’s maybe cut herself on a rock. She continues to stare, brow furrowing further as she shifts her feet under her. He can see the anxiety building in her and he comes towards them, calling her name softly in question.</p><p>“Go to your dad for a second,” she says quickly and Alice must sense her change in mood because she practically leaps across the small space into his arms. He hoists her out of the water and onto his hip just as Swan takes a deep, gasping breath and dives down beneath it. She’s under for a long moment, just long enough that Killian fears he may have to go after her, but panics knowing he can’t do so with Alice out this deep. </p><p>Finally, she breaks the surface, swallowing air in heavy swallows and the relief washes over him so forcefully that he’s made dizzy for a moment. She’s clutching something. It’s dark and leathery and covered in moss and seaweed. </p><p>“What’s that?” Alice asks and Swan stares hard at it. </p><p>“I don’t know. Just… something I found.”</p><p>Her eyes go wide suddenly. “Is it your seal-coat?” she asks excitedly.</p><p>“Maybe.” Her voice sounds far away.</p><p>“Are you going to bury it?”</p><p>Swan looks at them then for the first time since before she dove under the water, uncertain. But as her gaze turns to Alice, her expression softens, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Should I?”</p><p>“Yes. Then you could stay for seven years.” </p><p>Her smile softens even more. “Would you like that?” Killian can’t help the way his breath catches when her eyes flit to his beneath her lashes. </p><p>“Very much.” He hopes she knows, even if he can’t say it, how much he’d like it too. </p><p>She clutches the leather and weeds to her chest. “Well then, I guess we better bury it.” </p><p>Killian carries his daughter back to shore, Swan following closely behind them. Alice goes on at length without need for an audience about how and where they should hide the ‘seal coat’. Every time he glances back at the woman trailing in their wake, she’s fixated on the item in her hands, her expression unreadable. </p><p>It can’t be her seal coat. That would be impossible, ludicrous, the stuff of fairytales. He appreciates that she’s doing this for Alice, letting her play make believe, indulging her games and fantasies. But the way she’s staring at the waterlogged bundle, like it’s something overwhelming and terrifying and <em> familiar </em>... it makes him doubt everything he believes. </p><p>Maybe she <em> is </em> a selkie. Maybe she <em> did </em> swim here to escape a selkie husband and wind up in his net and in his life. All he knows is fairytale or not, figurative or not, her burying it <em> means </em> something. ‘ <em> Would you like that? </em>’ she’d asked. She didn’t have to ask. If she wants to stay, seven years or a hundred, he won’t send her away. </p><p>When they reach shore, Alice wiggles her way out of his arms and, after a small battle over the fact that she had to put her jeans and sweater back on (which she only agreed to when she saw that Swan was dressing as well), she begins leading them off back towards the house. </p><p>“Where are we burying it?” Swan asks, still clutching it carefully. </p><p>“I know the perfect place!” Alice insists.</p><p>Killian watches the woman carefully. Every now and then her eyes dart out around her, like she’s expecting someone or something, like she’s being watched. He tries to settle the chill in his bones, the worry that something is coming, that it’s on it’s way now to take her away and ruin this. He fears it; he can’t lose her, not yet. He hasn’t had enough time. He’ll never have enough time. </p><p>Alice runs off ahead of them, disappearing around the back of the cottage. He doesn’t worry. She’s spent years getting lost and found on the grounds and the cliffs and the woods around his home. She knows every inch. When he looks to Swan again she’s frowning, gnawing at her lip as her fingers scratch at the moss and the mud that cover her package. </p><p>He reaches out, fingers brushing gently along her spine, hesitant in his desire to comfort her. She glances up at him, snapped out of whatever train of thought she’d gotten lost in for a little while. He knows the feeling well. </p><p>“Are you alright?” he asks, fingertips still barely touching the dampness of her dress, droplets falling from her hair and onto his knuckles. She watches him for a moment. They’ve stopped walking. He can’t make out her expression. She looks torn, pained and confused and so lost and he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. </p><p>Her eyes are uncertain as she looks down at the would-be seal coat and then back at him. “I -”</p><p>“Come on!” Alice shouts and her mouth snaps shut. Killian turns to wave at his daughter who rolls her eyes in exasperation, waiting with arms crossed. When he looks back at the woman beside him the helpless expression is gone, hidden behind some wall he doesn’t know if he can climb. </p><p>“Swan?” </p><p>She smiles, bright and shining and a lie. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she insists, heading off after Alice and leaving him no choice but to follow. </p><p>They find her in the greenhouse, an old, broken down thing that had been here when they bought the cottage and that his mother had always meant to turn into something beautiful. She’d run out of time though, and while Killian once swore to himself that he’d finish it for her, the decaying wood of the foundation speaks of his empty promises and forgotten good intentions. </p><p>Swan looks around in wonder, eyes wide and mouth agape as she takes in the overgrown structure. Nature has overtaken it, moss and weeds and late season flowers climbing along the beams and covering the cracked stone floor. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, gazing up at the canopy of leaves that wind around the remains of the ceiling, some trickling down so low that she reaches out to brush them with her fingertips. </p><p>He’s taken in by the sight of her, by the way she finds beauty in the things he’s grown to loath and makes them magical. It’s as though the light she carries flows from her hands and into the room itself, turning the dark and shaded ruins into something wonderful. Strange and wonderful, like everything about her. He wonders if this is how Alice sees the world, remembers what it was like to see adventure and magic where others saw nothing. Perhaps he could see it this way again some day, or maybe it’s enough to surround himself with those who do. </p><p>“Over here,” Alice calls and they both follow her to the far end of the structure. She’s trying to get a piece of cracked stone loose, the floor crumbling beneath them. </p><p>“Here, let me,” he insists and kneels down to pry it free before she hurts herself. The rock lifts fairly easily, revealing soft, damp earth beneath it and Alice grins. </p><p>“Right here,” she says, kneeling down beside him and beginning to dig. </p><p>Swan finally sets down her burden and joins them on the ground, fingers sinking deep into the soil as she helps Alice dig. She looks at him, brow raised meaningfully and nodding at the ever growing hole. He shakes his head, laughing but complies, scooping mud and dirt and worms until it’s deep enough and she stands, picking up the bundle and setting it carefully inside. He’s never seen Alice so excited, and that’s saying something. </p><p>“Will we remember where it is?” Swan asks as they pile dirt over it. “In seven years?”</p><p>“Should we mark it?” Killian asks, trying to remember if he grabbed his pocket knife or left it on the boat. “We could put something in the wood.”</p><p>“No, that’s too obvious,” Alice shakes her head. “Someone could find it!” </p><p>Swan bites back a smile and turns to him. “Yeah, come on, Killian,” she sighs with a smirk. “Way too obvious.” He raises a brow at her, a disbelieving grin pulling at his lips. <em> Is she teasing him?  </em></p><p>“I know,” his daughter says, standing. She walks out where the back door would have been, feet carefully placed one in front of the other until she reaches a giant oak tree that’s been on the grounds longer than Killian’s been alive. She turns to them. “Seventeen steps to the fairy tree.” </p><p>“Brilliant,” he tells her and she looks very proud of herself. He doesn’t bother to question the fact that her feet will grow; he doubts she’ll remember this in seven years time. By then she’ll be too grown up, so for now he lets her believe in magic, hopes she continues to for as long as possible. </p><p>“Thank you, Alice,” Swan says, taking her hand when the girl returns to them. </p><p>“Now your selkie husband can’t make you go back!” </p><p>“I have a husband?” she asks. </p><p>“Of course. All selkies do. But now he can’t make you go back to the water for seven years. Not so long as your coat is hidden.” The excitement in his daughter’s eyes is unparalleled and he hates to break this up, but a glance at his watch tells him they need to get going. Alice needs to be home when her mother returns, and he still needs to go to the fishery. </p><p>“Time to get you home, love.”</p><p>“<em> Dad, no, </em>” she starts to whine and while it tugs at his heart that she wants to stay, he knows she can’t. </p><p>“Come on, your mum will start to worry.” She won’t. He knows that. She probably won’t even notice Alice is late or gone - who knows where Eloise is anyway - but if she finds out that Alice was here, she’ll make them both suffer for it and he won’t have her keeping his daughter from him any more than she already does. </p><p>“Do I still get to come this weekend?” she asks, stepping back as though she’ll refuse to leave unless he promises. </p><p>“Aye,” he smiles. “For the whole weekend.” Only then does she begrudgingly agree to come with him. The three of them head back out to the cottage, Swan sitting on the front steps and saying goodbye to Alice, saying she hopes she’ll see her soon. </p><p>“Will you still be here Saturday?”</p><p>Swan looks at him quickly before answering. He only gives her a hopeful smile. “Yes,” she promises and he has to duck his head to hide his pleased grin. </p><p>“Okay,” Alice agrees and then heads towards his extended hand. She’s only about halfway there when she stops. She turns suddenly, rushing towards Swan and wrapping her arms around her neck in a fierce hug. </p><p>The woman looks stunned for a second, thrown back by the force of the small girl crashing into her, but then she smiles, eyes almost watery as she squeezes her back. Alice whispers something in her ear that he can’t hear and he won’t ask about. Let them have their secrets. One more kind woman in his daughter’s life is not a gift he takes lightly. </p><p>Alice hangs on to his hand for longer than normal on their walk home, regaling him with tales of selkies and what exactly it means to bury her seal coat. He raises an eyebrow at some of the things she tells him she’s read in the books she found at the library, really hoping she doesn’t actually understand some of the stories about women and male selkie lovers. </p><p>“Why seven years?” he asks and she rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Because those are the rules. If she buries her seal coat she can stay for seven years. But burying it just means she <em> has </em> to stay. She can stay if she wants to. Unless her husband decides he wants to take her back. That’s why we had to make sure it was hidden. If he finds it, he’ll take her away.” There’s a hint of heartbreak in her eyes. </p><p>“Then I guess it’s a good thing we hid it so well,” he says, squeezing her hand and her smile is back. </p><p>“You know, Dad,” she says when they’ve been walking a little while. He looks down at her. “Sometimes selkies do stay on land forever. They say that selkies can often find happiness with a…” she frowns, certainly trying to remember whatever book she’s quoting. “A landsman! That’s it. Selkies can often find unexpected happiness with a landsman.”</p><p>“Is that so?” he asks, deliberately not acknowledging her meaningful look. </p><p>“Do you think Swan will stay?” she presses.</p><p>“I don’t know, love. That’s her choice.” </p><p>“I think she will. I think she likes it here. Maybe you can marry her and then she can stay forever.” </p><p>Killian winces, not ready to get into why he can’t go marrying a woman with no memory who he’s only met three days ago. Especially when even now the thought makes him smile. “Alice…” he starts.</p><p>“Why not?” she asks, more to herself. “It makes sense. She’s already living with you, and she likes you.” </p><p>“You think she likes me?” he asks before he can stop himself and regretting it the moment he says it. Alice gives him a sly grin. Killian clears his throat, making a point to sound less excited this time. “What makes you think she wants to stay?”</p><p>“She could have taken her seal coat and left.” </p><p>He knows it’s not a seal coat. He knows she’s not obligated to stay for seven years because she hid it in his greenhouse. But he can’t help but hope when he thinks of the way she looked at him when she said they should bury it. It felt like a promise. Maybe not a promise, but the suggestion of one at least. </p><p>“Besides,” Alice says, breaking him from his thoughts. “I’m not oblivious, you know. I’m seven. I know things.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much @ultraluckycatnd for helping me SO MUCH with this fic &lt;3 you’re such a lovely beta and person &lt;3</p><p>Big thank you as well to @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you! (and extra thank you to you Kay for reading my smut when I was insecure about it!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Part 7</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When Killian returns home, Swan is in the kitchen. He’s taken aback by the smell wafting over from the stove. She’s changed, still in his sweater but apparently also managed to find a pair of his sweatpants. She has them tucked into his socks. He marvels at how much better she looks in his clothes than he does. </p><p>She’s humming again, another song he doesn’t recognize, standing with her back to him and stirring something on the stove. </p><p>“That’s lovely,” he comments and she turns to face him, startling a little. “The song,” he clarifies. “Did you remember it?” </p><p>She frowns, searching for words then shakes her head. “It’s familiar.” </p><p>“More familiar than your seal coat?” he asks with a small smile, but she doesn’t return it. Something in her expression darkens and his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.” He reaches out, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. She looks at it but doesn’t shrug him off so he stays there maybe a little longer than he should. </p><p>“Don’t be.”</p><p>“Familiar is good,” he tells her, letting his fingers trace along the knit of her sweater until they find her elbow. He should stop touching her. But her gaze is fixated on his hand and she doesn’t look upset, though something in her expression softens. “Is anything else feeling familiar?”</p><p>She looks up then, meets his eyes. “You.”</p><p>“Me?” he asks, wondering if she can hear the word over the racing of his heart. She nods. “You’ve only just met me.” </p><p>“Things don’t have to be old to be familiar. They just have to feel… right. Like they belong.” </p><p>The words get stuck in his throat. He wants to ask her if she thinks she belongs here, if she feels like she belongs in this house with him, with Alice, in this strange little life they’ve built together in only a few days. He wants to tell her how right she feels, that his cottage has never felt more like a home than it does when he returns and finds her here, when he knows she’s there in the mornings.</p><p>“Shit,” he says suddenly as something on the stove begins to boil over. He reaches for the tea towel and grabs the lid, looking down to see a pot of foaming noodles. </p><p>“Shit,” she repeats, looking upset as he brings the pot to the sink and drains it. He sets it back on the stove and she takes a fork, stirring at the soft, sticky pasta. “It’s ruined.” </p><p>“It’s not ruined,” he insists. “It’s just… well done.” She raises a brow at him and he laughs. </p><p>“I was trying to make dinner. To thank you.” </p><p>“You don’t need to thank me for anything.” <em> Does she still not know how much he wants her here? </em>It still smells delicious, whatever sauce she has in the other pot not burned or over cooked. “It will still taste great. I’m sure of it.” </p><p>She rolls her eyes but insists he go sit down while she makes up the plates. He can't fight the soft smile that plays over his lips as he watches her move about the room like she’s been here forever, everything already familiar to her. He makes a point of telling her how good the spaghetti is, and while she rolls her eyes again, she smiles anyway. </p><p>“Did Alice get home okay?” she asks after a bit. </p><p>“Aye. She talked about you the whole way back. She’s quite taken with you.”</p><p>Swan smiles. “I’m quite taken with her. She’s a special kid.” </p><p>The rush of pride that always comes when he thinks of Alice washes over him. “She is. She’s got such an imagination. I hope she never loses it.” </p><p>“You’re good with her.” </p><p>Again that uncomfortable contradiction of feelings overwhelms him, his love for his daughter and his desire to keep her, but also the unrelenting doubt that he’s not enough. He only smiles, the movement tight and false. He knows she can see it. </p><p>“Why doesn’t she live with you?” Her voice is hesitant, like she knows it’s a touchy subject. </p><p>He clears his throat. “That’s… a very long story. I’ve made some mistakes in my life - a lot of them. And I suppose this is my penance.” She doesn’t push. </p><p>They clean the dishes together again and she hums softly under her breath, the same song as before. He asks her if she knows the lyrics but she doesn’t remember them, only the melody. He remarks again that it’s lovely, but very sad, a song that speaks of heartbreak. <em> “Maybe I had a sad life.”  </em></p><p>He ponders that as they somehow find themselves on the sofa again. She, too, looking lost in thought, not paying attention to the book she holds in her hands. Killian wonders what she does and doesn’t remember, how much of it is starting to trickle back, and what is staying hidden. He wonders how much she’s keeping hidden, from him and from herself. </p><p>She’s watching him again. He can feel her gaze, brushing gently along the lines of his face, the shell of his ear and his neck. He does his best to keep his breathing even, to focus on his page, but after a long moment he turns to meet her eyes. She’s sitting under the blanket, knees pulled up to her chest and book abandoned beside her. </p><p>“Why don’t you swim?”</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>“Why don’t you swim? You spend all day on the water. It doesn't make sense.” </p><p>He tenses, but shrugs. “I just never learned.” She knows it’s a lie. </p><p>“What if something happens?” She’s picking at her nail and he can’t help but be touched by her concern. He takes her hands, if only to stop her worrying them, and when she looks at him he smiles. </p><p>“Well then I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a water creature with me.” </p><p>She looks away, one of her hands slipping from his, thumbnail finding its way between her teeth. “What if I’m not always here?” </p><p>His heart drops but he does all he can to keep his tone light no matter how much it hurts to think that she may be considering leaving. “Are you going somewhere?” </p><p>She shakes her head. “I don’t want to.” She lifts her gaze to his once more. “But what if I don’t have a choice?” He can tell she’s forcing the lightness in her tone, worries what she’s so afraid of, what or who she thinks might be coming. </p><p>“Does this have anything to do with what you found in the water today?” </p><p>Her gaze is imploring, lost and desperate and he wishes he had the answers she needs. “I don’t know what it was,” she confesses. “But when I found it I knew it was important. And I knew…” She stops, frown growing ever deeper and he wants to reach out and smooth the lines. “Killian, I think I did something bad. Something really bad.”</p><p>“Did you remember...” </p><p>She shakes her head. “Only flashes. Muddled things. None of it makes sense. But I don’t know if Alice was so off about a selkie husband coming.” </p><p>He squeezes the hand that’s still in his, laces his fingers with hers to ground her. Her gaze, which had started to drift, finds its way back to him. “Then it’s a good thing we buried it.” </p><p>She nods but he knows that she’s still afraid. Suddenly she slides over, tucking herself against his side, hand still held in his and her free fingers tracing over the lines of his knuckles, his wrist. Hesitantly, he lets his arm fall around her shoulders, amazed at how perfectly she fits against him. </p><p>“What if he comes anyway?” she asks. “What if my selkie husband shows up and tries to take me away?” She looks up at him through her lashes and he does his best to pour everything he can’t say into the few words he can. </p><p>“I won’t let him.” </p><p>He means it. Not now, not after he’s had her in his arms and in his life and he knows what it can be like. If someone took her away, they’d take her light and her magic with them, all the warmth and the hope that she’s slowly stoked inside of him from the moment he met her. He won’t let them. Not without a fight. Her eyes are watery, her smile shaky but more certain than it was. </p><p>“You’re safe here, Swan,” he promises. “Nobody knows you’re here. Whatever secrets are after you are buried out back. Nobody can take you away unless you want to go.” </p><p>She raises her head, leveling him with the sincerity in her eyes. “I don’t want to go.” </p><p>Killian lets out a shaky breath as the fingers that had been tracing carefully along his forearm find their way to his cheek. She brushes softly against the roughness of his beard and he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment at the tenderness of her touch. She slides along the curve of his jaw to his chin, thumb dipping into the dimple there and his eyes flutter open. </p><p>All he can see is her. She’s the only thing that exists in this whole world and she’s here with him and he lets himself get lost in the sight and smell and feel of her, the soft green of her eyes, the freckles on her cheeks, her hand on his skin. She is everything. </p><p>She reaches for the back of his neck, pulling him to her and he goes willingly; her kiss like a siren’s call before her lips even brush his own, drowning him in the heat and the taste of her. She kisses him slowly, mouth lazy and unhurried and he breathes in her every movement, clinging to her like a man drowned as his arm tightens around her, drawing her closer until she’s practically in his lap. It takes everything he has not to let his hands wander over her sides and her legs that are draped across his. </p><p>He can’t remember the last time he was kissed like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this, with longing and gentleness and affection, and there’s something almost overwhelmingly intimate about it. </p><p>She opens her mouth under him and when his tongue slides past her lips and finds hers she lets out a sound that has every cell in his body burning. He shifts, leading her down until she’s lying beneath him on the cushions, settling on his side so that his hand can trace the length of her ribs and her waist and her hip like he wanted to. She lets out another one of those sounds, pulling him closer, legs tangling with his as she deepens the kiss even more.</p><p>He’s lost in the litany of sighs and gasps that escape her as he explores the curves and valleys of her through her sweater. It’s not until his fingers slip beneath, drawing a path along her ribs, and her hips cant up towards him that he freezes, realising how caught up he’s let himself get, how quickly they’ve found themselves here. He looks down at her, worried that he’s going too fast, rushing her into something. She doesn’t even know who she is; how could she know this is what she truly wants - that <em> he’s </em>who she truly wants? His chest tightens with the fear that if she had her memories, she may not make the same decisions. </p><p>“Perhaps we should stop,” he suggests, hand still hot against her skin, swallowing against the desire that makes his words come out rougher than he intends. </p><p>“Do you want to stop?” she asks and he lets out a sound that's as much a groan as it is a laugh, shaking his head. </p><p>“No. But you don’t have your memories, love. What if whoever you are, when you remember, regrets this?”</p><p>She frowns. “And what about me right now? Don’t I get a say?” </p><p>“Swan…” he starts, hand beginning to draw away, ready to talk himself out of this, but she catches it before it can slip from her shirt. </p><p>“I want you, Killian,” she swears and he lets out a groan as she drags his mouth back to hers, kissing him deeply, purposefully. “This me. Right now,” she says against his lips, dragging his hand back against her skin until he’s cupping her breast and she breathes a gasp into him. “<em> I </em> want you.” </p><p>He wishes he wasn’t so quick to be convinced, but he’s been powerless to the call of her, to her every wish and desire since he met her. And now is no different. She’s soft and wanting beneath him and the way she arches her back and catches his lip in her teeth when he drags his thumb over her hardened nipple has him lost once more. </p><p>His lips find her neck, tongue and teeth searching for every mark and freckle, every sensitive spot that has her writhing beneath him. His hand continues its slow torture of her breast and he doesn’t know who’s more affected, Swan twisting and gasping beneath his touch or him desperate and wanting for something he knows he can’t let himself have tonight. </p><p>Her hips have begun a steady roll against his thigh, hands reaching for him, slipping under his shirt and he pulls back to look at her. Head thrown back against the pillows, hair wild around her, eyes shut against the flush that covers her cheeks and throat, she’s every bit the siren he thought her to be that first night. And she wants <em> him </em>. </p><p>She opens her eyes, smiling at him and tangling her fingers in his hair so she can kiss him again. His own smile catches hers before he deepens the kiss, desperate to draw those soft, pleading sounds from her again. His hand journeys slowly across her stomach until he hesitates at the waist of her borrowed pants, not daring to go any further without her explicit permission. </p><p>She nods, mouth still not leaving his, and lets out a soft cry when he finds her hot and wet against his fingers. He works her slowly, lips only leaving hers when her gasps and moans become too frequent for her to hold the kiss, her head falling back as she whispers his name like a mantra. </p><p>She’s so beautiful. He didn’t think he could find her any more beautiful, any more captivating and enthralling. But the sight of her falling over the edge, lost in pleasure with his name on her lips as she trembles beneath his touch, he’s never seen anything so magnificent in all his life. </p><p>She looks at him, brow furrowed still, something like awe or disbelief in her eyes and he smiles at her. She kisses him again before her breathing steadies, hard and slow and it sets his skin on fire as it did the first time. Her hands grip the sides of his face as she deepens the kiss and when her hips roll against the length of him he growls into her mouth. </p><p>Her fingers trace down the column of his neck, over his chest to the hem of his shirt before slipping under. Her touch against his bare stomach makes the muscles there jump as her nails scratch lightly through the hair below his navel. </p><p>He should stop her. He should really stop her, but the words won’t come. Since she’s been here, she keeps insisting on thanking him for taking her in, for taking care of her. He doesn’t want her thinking he expected this from her, no matter how much he might want it. </p><p>“Swan...” The words are choked against her lips when her hand wraps around him, hot and painfully hard in her grasp. “You don’t need to -” he starts, even as his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. </p><p>“I said I want you,” she reminds him, sounding just annoyed enough that if he weren’t so conflicted it might make him laugh. “Do you want me?” </p><p>He meets her eyes, shocked that she even needs to ask, that his desire for her and his need to be close to her hasn’t been painfully obvious this whole time. Her expression grows embarrassed, shy and even hurt when he doesn’t answer right away, and his heart leaps into his throat at the idea that she could think he doesn’t want her, that she’s not everything he’s ever wanted and didn’t dare ask for. He doesn’t deserve her but if she wants him, he’s hers, in every sense of the word. </p><p>“Gods yes,” he sighs. </p><p>She smiles and then stands, holding her hand out for him to take and leading him across the cottage to the bedroom. Once inside she climbs up on the bed, bringing him with her as she lays down, pulling his sweater over his head before finding his lips and kissing him slowly. She lets her hands trace the lines of his back and his chest, fingers tangling in the hair there and tugging slightly, smiling against his mouth when he groans softly. </p><p>It's a strange feeling, new and unfamiliar to have someone be so careful with him, so attentive. His adolescent encounters had been numbered and awkward and he spent most of his adult life too lost to drink and misery to remember the events of the nights spent with the women he woke up to in his bed. And then there had been no one, for a very long time, and when there had it had been a means to an end, an itch to scratch, an understanding.</p><p>But Swan’s touch is anything but rushed, in no hurry to send him over the edge at the breakneck pace he’s grown so used to. Her fingers in his hair, nails grazing along his scalp as she finds his tongue with hers, her hips rolling against his thigh in time with the steady glide of her hand over the length of him, have him so wrapped up in her that he loses sense of time and place. There’s only her and this moment, and if she is a siren, if she has placed him under her spell, then he would meet his end willingly for another moment with her. Her hand on him is fire and perfection and bliss as she brings him towards the edge of ecstasy with her touch and her mouth on his. </p><p>He comes with her name on his lips, the only name he knows her by, the only one that matters. <em> His </em>Swan. He doesn’t care what secrets cause her such fear of retribution. He knows he’d love her no matter who she is or what she’s done and as he catches his breath, he trembles with the thought that she may not feel the same if she learns the things he’s kept from her. </p><p>He looks down at her, laid out beneath him, stroking his hair away from his eyes with a contented smile and he’s overwhelmed with the need to keep her close, to feel her against him once again in case he loses her. To what he doesn’t know, to her past, to his mistakes, to her bloody selkie husband…</p><p>His fingers tangle in her hair as he kisses her, deep, hard, and desperate, and she moans against his tongue. His hand follows the same trail it had before, a map that he’s drawn for himself, burned into his memory, every dip and curve of her waist and hips as he finds his way under her sweater to her breast, lips returning to her neck, to the spots that draw those sounds he can’t get enough of. </p><p>He shifts above her until he can settle in the cradle of her thighs, only parting from her to help her pull her sweater over her head. He gazes down at her in wonder, hands sliding along the line of her ribs to her waist as he catalogues the beauty marks that draw like constellations across her skin. </p><p>She pulls him down to kiss her again, cheeks flushed under his gaze and he obliges before continuing his kiss along the length of her neck to her breasts, relishing in the way she cries out at the roll of his tongue and desperate for more. He wants to pull every sound and movement and word he can from her, to keep it forever in his mind for when she’s no longer here with him, the rolling brush of her body against his like the waves of the ocean, the call far stronger than he’s ever felt. </p><p>He brings her to her height once more with his mouth on her, his tongue buried deep inside of her and her hands fisted in his hair as he savours the taste of her, the way she calls his name again and again as she rides the waves of her climax. And it’s only when she pulls him back up to face her, her eyes meeting what he’s sure is the crazed look in his own that his unease begins to settle. Her fingers stroke his cheek and his jaw, slowly following the lines of his neck and his shoulders as he lifts the sheet and she curls herself against his side. </p><p>She’s here. She’s real and she’s stayed and she’s warm and solid in his arms. He may not know how long he’ll get to keep her by his side, but he knows for certain now that with or without her, his life will never be the same. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Swan is laying with her head on his stomach, eyes shut peacefully as he sits against the headboard, running his fingers through her hair fanned out over his chest and the mattress. He can’t remember the last time he felt this calm. They haven’t said a word since crawling under the sheets, only gentle touches and smiles when she looks up at him. But she’s been still for a while now, breathing slow and easy and he wonders if she’s fallen asleep. </p><p>He debates closing his eyes as well, drifting off with her. It’s dark outside and it’s quiet. But he can’t stop watching her, taking in the lines of her face, the way her eyelashes brush her cheeks, head turned just slightly towards him. She’s a vision of gold and pink and white and he knows that he could never capture her on canvas if he tried. He doesn’t know what he did to find himself here with her in his bed, but he swears to whatever deity might be listening that he’ll keep doing it if she can stay a little longer. </p><p>“Who’s Ruby?” Her voice is soft, relaxed, but he tenses regardless. So she <em> had </em> heard Alice earlier. When he doesn’t answer, she opens her eyes to look at him, gaze growing more curious. He can feel his cheeks flushing, reaching up to brush behind his ear nervously. </p><p>“Ruby’s… a friend. From my youth.”</p><p>Her mouth twists into a playful smile, raising a brow at him. “A <em> special </em>friend?” </p><p>“Sometimes,” he admits, sighing, hand brushing his hair back from his face as he looks away from her. He’s not particularly interested in getting into the details of his past romantic exploits and failures. Her hand wraps around his wrist, pulling his arm back down and her fingers wiggling through his own until they’re interlaced on his chest. </p><p>“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering.” </p><p>He sighs again, thumb tracing over the back of her hand, more for his own comfort than for hers. “Ruby used to come stay here with her grandmother every summer when I was a boy. We were the same age and my parents knew her grandmother, so we became friends. And yes,” he says, giving her an embarrassed smile, knowing he’s answering her question. “When we got older our friendship… changed.” </p><p>He remembers those days, when both his mother and brother had been alive, and then just his brother. He’d been happier and it had been easier to find himself fooling around with the pretty girl who came to visit every summer. </p><p>“When she graduated high school, though, she went to study abroad so she stopped visiting. I didn’t see her for over a decade I don’t think.” His brow pinches, remembering exactly who he’d become in the span of those years, after Liam and before Alice. Her hand tightens in his as though she knows. “When she came back to visit again, she was the only person left on this whole bloody island who didn’t know about…”</p><p>“The mistakes,” she finishes for him and he nods. </p><p>“Aye. It was nice, having someone remember who I was. It made it easier to try and find my way back.” </p><p>She’s playing with his fingers now, pointedly not looking at him even as her voice stays light and conversational. “And is she <em> still </em> a special friend?” </p><p>His brows shoot up to his hairline and he tries to meet her gaze even as she avoids it. Surely he’s imagining it. He can barely bring himself to say the words. “Swan... are you jealous?” </p><p>She turns to him then with a very put-on frown. “No.” He raises a brow at her again and she tisks. “Okay maybe a little.” He lets out a laugh, more disbelieving than anything, that <em> she </em> could be jealous of any of his past lovers. </p><p>“You’re the one with the husband,” he teases, finger tracing the line of her cheek. She rolls her eyes. </p><p>“I’m not jealous of <em> that </em> ,” she says, finally sitting up so they’re at eye level, still dressed in nothing but his bed sheet and he allows his gaze to wander her shape for a moment because he can as she settles between his legs. She’s quiet for a moment and he reaches out to comb his fingers through her hair until she speaks again. “I’m jealous that she’s known you for so long. That she knows <em> you </em>.”</p><p>Killian slides forward, wrapping both arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest speaking against her hair. “Do you want to know me?” he asks, voice quiet. It’s been a long time since anyone did. Everyone in his life knows some version of his history, the bad usually outweighing the good. He wants to tell her everything, but he’s so afraid of what will come from her learning who he became in those dark years, the things he did, the people he hurt. </p><p>She brushes her fingers across his lips, tracing the shape of them and he presses a kiss to her skin. “Of course I do.” </p><p>He lets out a shaky breath. “You might not like it.” </p><p>“I could say the same,” she counters. </p><p>He pulls her closer once more, ducking his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Then you need only ask,” he promises, distracting himself with following the curve of her neck with his lips as his heart races in his chest. </p><p>“Even if I can’t offer the same?” Her face turns towards him even as she tips her chin to allow him better access, the words spoken with a soft gasp. He nods against the crook of her shoulder and she finds his jaw with her hand, dragging his head up so he looks at her. “Thank you.” She smiles, thumb brushing over his chin. He smiles too, smaller, still vulnerable, glancing away. “Not tonight though,” she adds before she leans in and kisses him again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huge, enormous, monsterous thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for your help as a beta on this one and for answering all my sporatic "Okay but what if..." messages when the plot bunnies hit. </p><p>Thank you as well to @the-darkdragonfly, @elizabeethan and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you guys and yell about the smut not working</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Killian wakes to the feeling of her shifting in his arms, warm and soft and sleeping as she presses her back more tightly to his chest. His arm is wrapped around her, his face buried against the nape of her neck, and he wonders what single right thing he may have done in his life to deserve this moment. His hand tightens against his Swan, holding her closer but careful not to wake her as he feels the heat of her skin through his sweater that she wears, the skin of her legs bare against the sweatpants she’d given him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After their conversation last night she’d kissed him, kissed him in that slow, careful way she seemed to realise he craved, and he’d rolled her under him on the mattress. He’d touched and kissed every inch of her he could reach, explored every gentle curve, mapped out each line of her body until she’d been writhing under him and his name had fallen from her lips in a plea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d brought her over the edge again with his mouth, and then once more with his fingers. He can still feel the tug of her hands in his hair, still taste her on his tongue. He could have spent hours, days, a lifetime bringing her to the brink of pleasure over and over again, watching her back bow and her mouth fall open in silent cries at his touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when she’d reached for him, desperate and wanting, skin slicked with sweat and begging him to join her, to take her, he’d stopped. She’d said she wanted to know him, the good and the bad, the secrets he kept buried so deep inside even he hadn’t visited them in ages, hadn’t dared to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was terrified. Terrified that if she knew, if he told her all the horrible things he’d done, the people he’d hurt, the pain he’d caused… she’d run. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> run. What was he doing now with his life - this quiet cottage, his days out at sea, his solitude and his denial - if not running? Running from the man he’d been, the one he’d hated, the one Liam would have hated, the one his mother would have been ashamed of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’d stopped, explanation spoken through broken words and cracked voice as he tried to put into words his fears, his belief that she deserved better, that she deserved to know who she was in bed with, lest she do something she regretted. He’d expected her to fight him, to convince him as she had before and he feared he wouldn’t have the strength of character to deny her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she hadn’t. She’d looked at him with understanding, with sympathy even - ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I did something bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ - and brushed his hair from his brow as she nodded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ she’d said, words breathed into the small, warm space they’d created for themselves under his worn comforter and in each other’s arms, their own little world where no one could find them, where no one could ruin the intimacy, the perfectness of this moment, not even the ghosts that dwelled in his own heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d kissed him, different from all the times she had already that night, no desperation, no slow build to something else. Reassuring, gentle and solid, and he clung to her, to the soft comfort he’d been without for so long. They’d stayed like that, lips and tongues coming together in soothing strokes, wrapped up in a tangle of limbs as fingers explored and caressed skin until his muscles had relaxed, the anxiety pulled from him, coaxed out by her touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d donned the sweatpants she’d borrowed that evening, the ones he’d tossed somewhere off the side of the bed, and had gone to retrieve her borrowed sweater after she’d confessed it was her favorite. He’d smiled at the fact that she had a favorite even though it was his, and then had watched her pull it over her head with a mix of possessiveness at the sight of her wearing his clothing and nothing else, and disappointment as the fabric swallowed her bare skin and hid it from his view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she’d curled up against his chest, reaching back to pull his uncertain hand around her, lacing their fingers together between her breasts, against her heart, and he’d pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in the smell of her, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d wished him goodnight and he’d leaned over, pressing his lips to her cheek and he’d felt her smile against his kiss before breathing his own goodnight against her ear. He’d fallen asleep more easily than he had in decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now here she is, still here in his bed, in his arms, skin warm against his and hair shining and golden, bathed in the morning light that pours through the window. He isn’t sure what time it is but he knows it’s late, the sun far higher in the sky than it should be and he doesn’t begrudge the day lost on the water one bit, not when this is the alternative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, wanting to taste the sunlight that clings to her, that seems to love her so much, She lets out a soft, contented sigh that reminds him of the similar sighs and gasps and cries that had fallen from her lips last night and it sets his skin on fire, his stomach tightening as desire swirls in his gut. She is a siren, the pull of her so strong that only the slightest sound can make him lose his senses, make him desperate to hear more, desperate for the feel of her skin on his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pressing another kiss to her neck, this time at the dip where it meets her shoulder, Killian lets his hand slide down the length of her torso until he reaches the hem of her sweater, sliding his hand beneath. He presses his palm flat against her stomach, her skin like fire under his palm and he wonders when she stopped feeling cold, when the chill of her skin melted into this molten heat that draws the ice from his veins with every touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan shifts softly against him and he drags his lips up along the column of her throat to her ear, tongue darting out to taste more of her as his hand trails smoothly up to her breast, teasing the underside as she begins to writhe in his arms. She lets out a low moan that morphs into his name as her eyes flutter open and she looks at him over her shoulder, eyes heavy lidded from sleep and desire and he hardens instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets out a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ when his hand covers her breast, arching slightly into his palm and the tilt of her neck allows him more access as he draws lips and teeth and tongue across her skin, nipping at the line of her jaw. Her hips rock slowly back against him as he teases her nipple with his thumb and finger. The feel of her rolling against his length has him worried he’ll spill himself right this moment, so he slides a leg between hers, both to get himself under control and to allow her to grind against his thigh instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s practically whining under him, hips riding his leg as he strokes her breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks as he works a mark into the hollow of her throat. This might be the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen, Swan, stretched out in his arms writhing and twisting as she begs him to touch her, begs him for release. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Killian,” she says, and it’s like a spell cast over him. He takes hold of her jaw so that he can turn her face, can slant his lips over hers and swallow her cries on his tongue. His other arm slips beneath her, pulling her against him and resuming the slow torture of her breasts as he kisses her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bites his lip, a warning and a demand and he smirks against her mouth but obeys, fingers leaving her jaw to trail down her stomach to the apex of her thighs where he already knows she’s hot and wet for him. She moans into his mouth as his fingers dip into her heat, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves before slipping inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He works her slowly, fingers dragging in and out of her unhurried, palm pressed to her center, letting her grind against it, her whole body shuddering when he pinches her nipple between his fingers. It’s almost cruel, he knows it is, and it’s entirely selfish to take her so leisurely when she’s squirming, begging for more, a thin sheen of sweat glowing across her skin. But he wants to bask in the feel of her, the sight of her, for as long as he can, to draw out this moment in case he doesn’t get another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon though, he falls victim to her pleas, to her desires and to her body like he always does. And when her lips part from his, heavy panting gasps and a sobbed ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ filling his ears, he finds himself desperate to watch her as she falls over the edge at his hands once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He traces her neck with his tongue, hand kneading at her breast as his fingers increase their pace and his thumb finds her sensitive bundle once more and circles in slow, purposeful motions. The way she bows against him, against his hands and his mouth has him rolling his hips against the softness of her rear despite himself. But it only seems to spur her on, pushing back against him and reaching up to fist her hand in his hair as her cries grow louder and more frequent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel her hovering at the edge, so close to climax and he pulls back to look at her, to watch her face as she falls and he’s met with her eyes already watching him, drawing him in as she rocks her hips more steadily against his hand and his cock until he’s right there with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a flick of his thumb and a final thrust of his hips they both tumble over into ecstasy. Their cries mingle in the quiet of the morning as they grip each other tightly, needing something to hold onto, something to ground them as they tremble with the aftershocks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his heart no longer feels like it’s going to burst from his chest and she’s stopped shaking in his arms, he presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then her ear and she laughs, an exhausted sounding thing, before letting her head fall back so he can capture her lips with his. He’ll never tire of this, of her, of them, and he deepens the kiss as the fear clings to him once more that he may lose her, that their time together may be fleeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns in his arms, wrapping herself around him and slowing his mouth, soothing him as she did last night until the anxiety weighs less heavily in his chest, as though she knew what he was thinking. He holds her to him regardless, hand cupping her face and stroking her cheek even after she pulls away and smiles at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” she laughs and he feels a smile stretch his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I’d say so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She studies his face for a moment before focusing on the window behind him. Her mouth drops open in surprise and then her eyes light up. “The sun’s out!” He makes a noise of agreement, fingers tangling in the rays shining in her hair. “I haven’t seen the sun since I got here!” she says, sitting up quickly and dashing out of the bed to the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian leans back, folding his hands behind his head, watching her push open the glass to let the warm fall air in. She shuts her eyes, tilting her head back and letting the rays fall over her cheeks, basking in it for a moment before she whirls around, fixing him with an excited look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we go out on the boat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at her, bouncing on her bare toes, eyes lit up with the sun and while he’d have loved to spend the entire day in this bed with her, he nods. “Of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beams at him and makes her way back over, sitting beside him on the mattress and folding a leg under herself. “Do you think we’ll catch anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls over onto his side, fingers toying with the strands of her hair that reflect the light and shakes his head. “Doubtful,” he admits. “Fish prefer the rain to the sun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan looks disappointed for a moment and then a smile curls her lips. “Well,” she says, leaning down until her face is only inches from his own. “Selkies prefer sunlight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kisses him, chaste and sweet and teasing before she darts off towards the bathroom. He smiles after her, once again shocked by this strange feeling of being excited for the day, excited to face the sea and the morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It bit me!” she gasps, turning wide eyes on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian does his best to stifle his laughter, his lip caught between his teeth. “Lobsters don’t bite, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares, pulling her injured finger from between her lips. “You know what I mean.” </span>
</p><p><span>They’d been tying lobster claws, Killian surprised to have found a few in the traps once they’d set off, fully expecting to return home empty handed today. ‘</span><em><span>A pleasure cruise</span></em> <em><span>then,</span></em><span>’ she’d said when he told her there wasn’t much point of putting the nets down, not this late, not when it was this surprisingly warm. </span></p><p>
  <span>Swan had insisted on helping and he’d warned her to make sure that the free claw was tucked tightly between her knees while she tied the other to avoid their snap. But she’d been too focused on wrapping the elastic and had let the sharp claw slip. She would be alright. She’d been quick and had pulled her hand away before the creature had latched on and left her with only a little pinch, but he knows the sting of that pinch all too well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Picking up the offending lobster and tossing it in one of the deep buckets where it can’t harm her anymore, Killian crouches before her and takes her hand in his, studying the red tip of her injured finger. It looks like it smarts, but he imagines no more than if she’d caught it in a drawer. He presses his lips to her injury, kissing it better as he does for Alice, though perhaps a bit slower, a little deeper, if the way her breath catches is any indication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ll survive,” he promises. “Perhaps we should leave the lobsters for now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares at the bucket. “No, give me the elastic. This is personal now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan, you can’t exact revenge on a crustacean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just watch me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, the sound bubbling up from deep in his chest. “And how do you intend to do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could eat him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs again. “Is that how scores are settled under the sea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes her cheek with the back of his hand before standing to man the tiller again. “Remind me to stay on your good side,” he says. She finally looks at him and when she does, there’s something playful in her eyes and it sets his heart racing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should,” she warns, standing to follow him into the little cabin, leaning against the dashboard. “Selkies are very wrathful creatures.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they?” She nods. “And how does one stay on a selkie’s good side?” He swallows. She’s standing so close it’s distracting and he’ll steer them right into the cliffs one of these days if he’s not careful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Siren is more like it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks as she reaches for the collar of his shirt, fingers dancing along the line of his collarbone, through the hair beneath it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, they are quite drawn to fishermen.” He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat, not trusting his words. She hums, hand trailing up his chest to his shoulder, fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Especially ones with eyes like the ocean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hardly look at her, his heart pounding so forcefully in his chest, but she holds his gaze, drawing him in, drowning him in their depths. “And skin like salt.” She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, tongue snaking out and driving him mad with want. She pulls him closer until she’s trapped between him and the wheel. She leans in, breathing her next words into his ear. “And who make them see stars.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moans when he kisses her, his skin on fire and his blood pounding in his ears as he presses her harder into the wheel with the force of his mouth and his hips against hers. He’s never had a woman on his boat before her, never wanted anyone here with him, in this place of solitude and quiet and loathing where he wasted his days. But now, seeking her tongue with his own, relishing the way her voice carries on the water and their bodies roll in time with the waves, he never wants to spend a day on this wretched ocean without her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selkies can’t see the stars in the water,” she says, voice breathless as he drags his lips along the length of her neck, hand sliding up along the thin material of her dress, bunching it up around her waist. “There’s too much darkness, too much cold and emptiness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers tease the inside of her thigh, slipping between them, sliding into her heat and working her steadily towards her peak when he hears the tinge of sadness in her words. She may not remember who she was, but he knows there are some feelings that are impossible to forget. He thinks perhaps she meant a different kind of stars, a kind he hasn’t seen in decades, not until her. He’d forgotten, in his years of darkness, of endless night, how brightly the sky could shine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why we find fishermen,” she gasps, back arching as his teeth close gently over the stiff peek of her breast through the fabric. Her words are lost for a moment, only sighs and soft cries leaving her as his thumb presses against her center, hoping to show her some of those stars she so desperately wants. When she finds her voice, it's strained and he knows she’s nearly there. “To draw us back to the light -” Her words end in a choked cry as she comes apart on his fingers, the sound echoing on the wind, haunting and captivating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trembles in his arms and he nudges softly at her nose with his own until he can angle his mouth on hers, kissing her the way she had kissed him last night, the way she’d kissed him this morning, sensing that perhaps she’s the one who needs comfort now, who needs reassurance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wrong, you know,” he mumbles against her lips after a long moment. He draws his thumb along her cheekbone, cradling her jaw in careful fingers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> are the light.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve given up on the lobsters and fishing for the day, opting instead to bask in the rare sunlight. They sit on the boat’s small deck against the cabin. Swan's settled between his legs, back snug against his chest and head lolling lazily against his shoulder as he watches her freckles darken under the rays. He’s sure his own cheeks and nose will be red by this evening but he doesn’t mind, not when she’s wrapped up so tightly in his arms, humming another one of her foreign songs, the sound reverberating through his chest and filling the hollowness that’s lived there so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every now and then she turns, tilting her chin just enough so that she can press her lips to his neck, to the spot just above his collarbone and it sends heat and shivers rippling through him. He knows she knows. He can tell by the pleased grin that pulls at the corner of her lips, the one she’s hiding so poorly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the breeze picks up she curls around him, clinging to his side for warmth, or perhaps to warm him, and he bundles her against his chest. Her fingers draw idle patterns in the opening of his shirt. Every now and then they trace along the chain that rests there, the silver tarnished and old. He’s gotten so used to wearing it that he forgets he has it most days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel the question forming in her and he readies himself for it, certain she noticed it last night as it hung between them. It’s not a common thing to wear, a ring on a chain, and he knows she’s perspective enough to notice it’s more than a trinket. But still she doesn’t ask. He’d been so afraid last night when she told him she wanted to know everything. But he’d promised her all of it and so he makes the words form on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was my brother’s. Liam.” He feels her shift against him, her head tilting up, but he can’t quite meet her eyes, instead choosing to pull the ring from his shirt and focus on it as it catches the light between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He raised me. After my mother died." She stays silent and he appreciates it, appreciates her letting him tell this tale at his own pace. "He was seven years older than me, only fourteen when she passed - far too young. But he kept me alive, kept me fed. He made me go to school even after he left so he could work.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I hated him for it.” He can feel her smile against his shoulder. “I don’t know what would have happened to me without him.” He swallows against the lump in his throat, the one that’s always there when he thinks of Liam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father?” she asks quietly and he lets out a heavy sigh, the rage that always flares in him at the mention of Brennan rushing through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father’s not worth talking about.” He worries he’s spoken too harshly, but she only presses a kiss to his shoulder and waits for him to continue. “Liam always wanted to see the world - that was his dream. He’d always spoken about leaving as soon as he turned eighteen, going away to school, becoming a doctor or a teacher or a journalist. He didn’t really care so long as he could travel. But when he turned eighteen, he had an eleven year old to take care of and he couldn’t leave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest burns. His fault. It was his fault that Liam had stayed, that he’d given up his dream and stayed on this horrible island. Died on this horrible island. “He got a job with the Coast Guard. I knew it wasn’t what he wanted, even back then, but he said it was enough. He always said it was enough. So long as he kept a roof over our heads and dinner on our plates and me from having to leave school and work… he said it was enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gave him such a hard time,” he laughs. “I was such a little shit, angry and getting into fights. He wouldn’t have any of that, though. He’d set me straight right away.” He lets himself get lost for a little while in the memory of him, the parts that hurt less, the scraps and fights they’d gotten into, the kind that are only born of siblings who care and don’t know how to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets his finger slip through the band, feeling the weight of the silver against his skin and knowing he’s not worthy of it. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll have better, Killian.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ That’s what he’d always said to him, every time he let himself remember the things he’d lost and had given up. He knew it was what kept him going, knowing that his little brother would be able to have a choice. And what had Killian done? He’d thrown the opportunity away, had spit in the face of his brother’s efforts, his memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a storm. A hurricane some hundred miles away, but even here the sea was fierce that night.” He remembers it vividly now, sitting in their cottage, barely seventeen and watching the sky shudder and crack with lightning, watching the sea thrash and rage, a threatening swell of inky black, the rain pounding so hard against the windows he thought they would shatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He got called out. A fisherman hadn’t made it back in time, his boat was taking on water. He was stranded out there.” Swan’s hand tightens in his shirt, thumb running soothingly over his heart. “Liam and some of the others went out to rescue him. Six of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s silent for a long while, the pain as fresh as it was over fifteen years ago. “They all made it back, even the fisherman. But not him. Nobody could tell me exactly what happened, too much chaos I suppose. But they said that the man went overboard and Liam went after him. He brought him all the way to the ship, sent him onboard first. They think a wave took him before he could be pulled out, or maybe he hit his head against the ship and sank because suddenly, he was just gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what they’d said, just gone, as suddenly and cruelly as he’d been gone from his life. “They searched, longer than they should have. But they never found him.” He can feel the dampness of her tears against his shoulder and he holds her more tightly because he needs to. "He was only twenty four." So young. He hadn't seemed it then, but he was so young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian fiddles with the ring again. “He gave me this that night. Because I was scared that something would happen to him. It was his good luck charm, something he found once when he was a boy, washed up on the shore. He said he’d come back for it.” But he hadn’t. He doesn’t need to tell her that. He doesn’t think he could get the words out anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry.” Her words are breathed softly, her fingers reaching up to brush the line of his jaw in that gentle way of hers. He swallows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They showed up at my door with his uniform and a check. I used that to buy a bottle of rum and drank the whole thing in one night - the first of many. I started getting into trouble again, spending time with the wrong people, picking fights - only this time I was stronger and fueled by drink and anger and grief. I’d always teetered on that edge but after Liam, I fell over it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t think he can tell her any more. Not now, not today. He’ll tell her another time about who exactly it was he fell in with, what he’d done for them to feed his habit, to find a way to silence the emotions that screamed inside him. But he needs her now. He feels raw, like an open wound and he doesn’t want to risk her leaving when she does learn of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was a good man,” is all he can bring himself to say. “And he wanted me to be one too. And instead I became -” He doesn’t even have the words. Vile, wretched, a monster. None seem adequate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan lifts her head, looking at him but he doesn’t meet her gaze. He hasn’t since he started speaking. “You’re a good man,” she says and he turns his face away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rises, kneeling between his legs and taking his face in her hands, making him look at her. “You’re a good man, Killian,” she says again, more forcefully this time, refusing to let him cast his eyes from hers. “I know you’ve done some shitty things, and I know you don’t want to tell me about them yet. But whatever you did, you’re a good person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel his eyes burning and he opens his mouth to contradict her, but she doesn’t let him. “Look at everything you’ve done for me. Look at Alice.” That stops him. “You don’t think your brother would be damn proud of how she turned out? That’s because of you. That goodness that she has in her? She gets that from you. I’ve seen it. You take care of people, Killian - just because they need taking care of. Bad men don’t do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to say, pain and grief and relief and so many other things he can’t name flooding into his chest until he feels like he’s drowning in them; like they’re washing through him, filling his throat and his lungs and he wants to cry and he wants to laugh and he wants to run from it. He kisses her, this woman, this creature of light and music and fairytales that thinks he’s good, that thinks he’s worthy of anything, that he’s worthy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathes into his mouth and he lets the air fill his lungs, lets it push back the swell of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. “You’re good,” she whispers once more against his lips and his hand comes up to fist in her hair to keep her here, to swallow more of her gasps and breaths and words. Good. She thinks he’s good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long while he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers and raising a hand to cup her face as they breathe each other in for a moment. He feels better - not good, but lighter, less lead in his limbs than there was a moment ago. She mirrors his movement, thumb brushing over his unshaven cheek before pressing a kiss to it, and then the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good man Killian Jones.” He turns his head away, torn between a smile and a grimace, but she only uses the opportunity to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You’re the best man I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> tug at the corner of his lips then. “I’m the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> man you know,” he points out. He peeks back at her only to see her roll her eyes at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” She pushes his shoulders, forcing him as far back as she can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, but lets her do as she pleases and reclines against the glass windows of the cabin. She leans over him, hands on either side of his head, the sun behind her, casting her in a golden halo as it shines around her, bathing her hair in its light. He reaches up to brush a piece behind her ear. She leans down, the kiss over far too quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kind,” she says pressing her lips to his jaw again. “And caring.” The next one against his neck. “And considerate.” His collarbone. “And selfless.” This one over his heart, which is already beating frantically beneath her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands slide up his shirt, finding the buttons and peeling it open. “And handsome,” she says then, and his throat tightens in a half-gasp as her lips brush below his ribcage. She looks up at him then, eyes raking over his chest to his face. “So distractingly handsome,” she huffs in frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan…” he starts when her lips find his hip bone, jumping at her touch. But she ignores him, drawing her tongue along the other and making him forget how words work altogether. He doesn’t even notice that she’s gotten his belt undone, too focused on the feel of her mouth against his skin, too wrapped up in her words, until her hand slides along his length and her name leaves him again, more broken this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You take care of people,” she says, lips finding his neck again, fingers curling around him and he forgets how to breathe for a moment. “You give so much of yourself because you don’t think you deserve to be cared for, to take anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hardly think through the fog of heat and desire and need that surrounds him, can hardly see beyond her eyes, feel beyond her lips and her hand as she kisses him again. His fingers tangle in her hair, mouth opening wide beneath hers as he groans, seeking her tongue with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand tightens around him, stroking slowly and he fumbles against her lips. “You’re wrong,” she tells him, and he doesn’t have time to remember what he’s wrong about, to question her before the strands of her hair slip from his fingers as she slides down his body and takes him in her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing, nothing could have ever prepared him for the feeling of her lips around him, for the fire and the hunger and the awe that fills him at the sight of her. He’s never felt so desperate for and so undeserving of something in his life, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any protests he has, the slightest hint of good form he musters dies on his lips, drowned out by pleas and gasps and words of praise, of wanting. His fingers tangle in her hair again, that desperate need to ground himself, to remind himself that this is real, that she’s real as she lures him towards the edge; like the moon lures the tide, like a siren lures a sailor to the rocks. She draws him to her with that same intensity, that same overwhelming, unnatural pull that he’s always felt for her, his sea creature, his Swan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shatters like waves on the cliffside, his pleasure crashing through him with an intensity like none he’s ever felt, before being pulled out into the fathomless stillness, the calm washing over him. He opens his eyes and she’s sunlight and warmth and magic and dreams before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits up, pulls her to him, setting her in his lap as he kisses her. He tries to draw every ounce of good and right and warmth that he can from her. Her fingers trail along his spine, across his shoulder blades and into the hair at the back of his neck. His arms come around her waist, squeezing her, maybe too hard, but needing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she wraps her arms around his shoulders and squeezes him back just as tightly, something small and fragile in him feels like it breaks, something that’s been holding too much back for too long. His mouth leaves hers and his head falls to her shoulder, face turning into her neck as she holds him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t remember the last time someone held him. It must have been his mother, or maybe Liam once, and he thinks he may cry for want of it. Perhaps he does cry a little, but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s sitting here on the deck of his ship in the embrace of the woman he already knows he loves, warmed by the sun and the scent of the sea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow she’s seen his shipwreck of a heart, of a soul, and deemed it worth saving. And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could brave the storms that still lay ahead of him if they lead back into her arms. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huge, enormous, monsterous thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for your help as a beta on this one and for answering all my sporatic "Okay but what if..." messages when the plot bunnies hit.</p><p>Thank you as well to @the-darkdragonfly, @elizabeethan and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you guys and yell about the smut not working</p><p>Finally thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for this lovely aesthetic that made me start writing this fic again.</p><p>Extra thank you this week to @sailtoafarawayland for letting me steal bits and sentiments of her beautiful comment and use them in this chapter:</p><p>“I love how she just knows his hurt is so deep that hearing ‘you’re good’ Once isn’t quite enough, that it would almost seem like a platitude, so she presses and buries it into his being so he can really hold onto it, can maybe start to believe it”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They turn the boat back towards shore just as the skies begin to cloud over. Killian lets Swan steer, busying himself with pulling in the mostly empty net and sorting through it for any tears. He can hear her humming from the cabin, the wind flowing softly through her hair and flipping the edges of the long coat she’d borrowed around her legs. As if she can feel him watching, she looks over her shoulder and offers him a smug smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eyes on the water, Swan,” he reminds her, his own smile teasing. She rolls her eyes at him, but turns back to the horizon ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his confession, they’d stayed wrapped up in one another for a long time, watching the sky shift from blue to grey, feeling the breeze grow stronger and their skin grow colder but remaining out of pure stubbornness, a refusal to leave each other’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian had been too selfish to let her go. Not after the words she’d spoken to him. He’d laid himself bare to her, told her about Liam, about the worst day of his life. He’d told her about who he’d been. Not much, just that first hint of his descent into darkness. He’d expected her to grow wary, to grow uncertain, unsure about the man he was slowly revealing himself to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead she’d somehow seen good in him, had pressed the words into his skin and buried them into his being until he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, until they became something tangible that he could hold onto. Like she knew that hearing them wasn’t enough, that the damage was too deep. He may not believe her, not fully, but as long as he held her in his arms, he could let himself begin to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan turns to look at him again, her face softening as she catches him still watching her, lost in his thoughts. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words are cut off by the sound of an engine whirring by and he only has a second to see the panic in her eyes before she throws herself to the floor of the cabin, curled against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hiding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he realises. Hiding from whatever terrible thing or person she fears is coming for her, from whatever bad thing she may have done. He rushes to her, crouching down to make sure she’s alright. She looks frightened, turning questioning eyes on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just some teenagers, love. Probably trying to beat the rain back home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets out a shaky sigh, her face turning somewhat embarrassed, but gives him her hand when he holds out his own and lets him pull her to her feet. Killian hesitates, not sure if he should ask, not really wanting to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to stay at the cottage tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she answers immediately, brow furrowing in shock and then slowly shifting to hurt, to doubt. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” he answers just as quickly. Then he sighs. “I just want you to feel safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She puts her hands on the wheel again, guiding the boat back from where it had drifted with impressive ease. “I feel safe here,” she says to the horizon. “I feel safe with you. I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t want to be seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. They’re close to shore so she lets him take over steering as she sits at the small table in the cabin, hidden from any prying eyes out at sea. She looks smaller, less bright and full of life than she had that morning, and it breaks his heart. He knows what it is to have ghosts following him, to fear their retribution when they catch up. And they always catch up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers fiddle with the ring around his neck. Knowing what he’s going to do before he even considers it, Killian pulls the chain over his head and crosses the small cabin to her. She looks up at him, eyes wide in question when she sees what he’s holding. “Take it,” he says and her gaze snaps to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian, no. I can’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, you can,” he says, sitting on his heels so that they’re at eye level. “This ring kept Liam safe as long as he had it, and it’s kept me safe since.” He reaches up, draping the chain over her head, watching the ring settle against her chest and a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t really believed in magic or in luck when he’d been given the ring, had stopped entirely after his brother’s death. But seeing it around her neck makes him wonder if maybe there was some magic to it after all, if that magic was love. Perhaps that love had kept him safe all these years like Liam had always sworn he would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then what’s going to keep you safe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wants to answer, but he holds himself back. If only she knew how much she’s already changed his life, how many times she’s saved him, how close he was to that edge before he met her, before she pulled him back to safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be just fine,” he promises. “What could happen to me with a magical creature around?” His tone is light but she watches him for a long moment, eyes watery and it makes his heart clench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches behind her neck and it takes him a moment to realise she’s unclasping her own necklace, the small swan pendant that she’s worn since he pulled her from the water. He doesn’t stop her when she reaches for him, fingers sliding over his shoulders and fastening the chain at the nape of his neck. He feels her breath on his cheek before her lips press to it and she pulls back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For when I’m not with you,” is all she says by way of explanation, fingers brushing over the pendent where it hangs in the open collar of his shirt. Killian swallows, nodding and placing his own hand over hers, silently hoping that day never comes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kisses him, hand coming to his cheek and holding it so carefully her touch is barely a whisper and when she pulls back, she presses her forehead to his and smiles, some of that light back in her eyes. It makes him smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go home,” he says and tries to hide the way it makes his heart tighten when she answers,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s go home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go get Alice,” Killian tells her as they make their way back up the steps to the cottage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she coming over?” Swan asks with a fond smile and disappointment rushes through him. He’d love nothing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but, uh, her mother often forgets to pick her up and…” He trails off, not sure how to explain his habit of lurking near the school to see if his daughter has been neglected and then walking her back to the home of the woman he hates more than anyone on this earth. She reaches for his hand, squeezes it gently, silently beckoning him to look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good father,” she says and he swallows past the lump in his throat, remembering the words she’d branded into his skin only hours ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m all she’s got.” She glares at him, as though daring him to question his worth again and it makes him laugh softly. “I have to meet David after, we have a standing dinner on Thursdays and if I don’t show up he’ll come looking for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friend. His wife is Alice’s teacher. He worries. They both do.” She smiles, the curl of her lips fond and gentle. “Will you be alright here alone for a while?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan nods, fingers going to the ring around her neck, slipping through the band. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a good luck charm now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know she can grant wishes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Killian asks, raising an eyebrow at his daughter who has stopped on the sidewalk, gripping his hand in both of hers as she tries to walk up his leg. He hoists her up when her feet reach his hip and she laughs as he flips her over in his arms before setting her back on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wishes,” she repeats. “One wish per person. I know what I’m going to wish for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice rolls her eyes at him. “I can’t tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then it won’t come true.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he says, trying to bite back his smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what you’d wish for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question makes him pause. Not long ago he’d given up on wishing for anything, not because he hadn’t wanted it, but because he’d stopped believing it could ever come true. But now he wonders what he would wish for. For Alice, of course; above all else he’d wish to have Alice with him, to keep her from Eloise, to keep her safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he has new wishes now as well. For Swan, for her to stay, for her to be free of whatever demons haunt her, for that lingering fear to leave her eyes whenever he meets them. And for himself, he realizes. For the first time in a long time he wishes for better for himself; for a job he doesn’t hate, to wake up not loathing the day ahead of him, to come home to warmth and happiness and family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t surprise him that when he closes his eyes it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sees, her and Alice filling his home with joy and laughter like they always do. He wants it, with every fiber of his being he wants it. And he wonders at the hope that creeps up in his chest, the small, sparking belief that maybe it’s not just wishful thinking. A little bit of magic came into his life the day Alice was born, just enough to make his existence worth staying alive for. And now that he’s found Swan, the magic and the lightness and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span> that she brings... it feels worth </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he says, “I don’t know” to Alice, even as a small smile pulls at his lips. She looks disappointed and so he nudges her with his elbow. “Why don’t I give you my wish? I’m sure you’d make better use of it than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns, brow screwing up. “I don’t think they’re transferable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you read anything that says they’re not?” She shakes her head. “Then I think that’s a loophole.” Killian winks at her and Alice beams, nodding in acceptance of his logic and excitement at the possibility of </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> wishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come with you and David?” she asks and Killian just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’s hoping for some of Granny’s hot chocolate. But he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, love. You need to get home before your mum starts to worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum never worries,” she mumbles and he winces. “She probably won’t even notice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart twists because he knows she’s right and there’s nothing he can do about it. Unless they can prove that Eloise is an unfit parent - more unfit than a former alcoholic ex-con - he has to play by the rules she’s chosen, or risk losing access to his daughter completely. It’s part of the reason he’s meeting David today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you what, on Saturday when you come over we can go to the Regatta. And then we can go to Granny’s for dinner. How does that sound?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can Swan come?” Her question is so like Swan’s earlier that he smiles, touched by how fond they are of each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so. She’s still hiding.” Alice nods solemnly, as if she’s part of something very important. “But she’ll be there all weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she could take me swimming again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s too cold, love,” he starts but she grabs his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s not!” she insists, shaking it, her age showing as her voice hinges dangerously close to a whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t encourage her tantrums, but she’s so mature for her age, has had to grow up so fast in her short life that he clings to these moments of youth whenever they leak through. He doesn’t care if he’s spoiling her. With the way her mother ignores her, he’ll do whatever’s possible to spoil her as long as he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to ask her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice grins as though she knows Swan will say yes. She probably will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you got dinner tonight?” Killian asks as they reach her house. “Do you want me to get Mary Margaret to bring you something?” He worries, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> worries about whether Eloise will take the time to make their daughter something to eat, or at least order in. But it’s the end of the month and he knows that whatever extra money her mother has will likely be spent at the Tower rather than on Chinese. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice shakes her head. “Ms. Blanchard made me pizza casserole.” She pulls a face. “There’s green stuff in it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian reminds himself to ask David to thank his wife as he makes Alice promise to eat all the green stuff. He hugs her goodbye, squeezing her just a little too long until she lets out a long suffering “Daaaad,” and he lets her go, watching her walk the last block to her mother’s house with a heavy heart. Soon, he swears to himself and to her, soon he’ll get her out of that wretched woman’s house and back home with him where she belongs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re late,” David says, standing from the booth they always sit in and reaching out to shake Killian’s hand, patting him on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I?” Killian asks. “Or is it just that you wanted to meet for dinner at 4:30 like a seventy year old man? I didn’t know Granny’s offered an early bird special.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David rolls his eyes. “Mary Margaret is going out to dinner with some of the other teachers tonight. I promised I’d drive her and pick her up so she could have some wine with her friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have rescheduled,” Killian offers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way and miss Granny’s burgers? Besides, I know you only hang out with me so that I’ll buy you food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How very true,” he says with a smirk, picking up the menu. It’s not and David knows it. He’s his only friend in this whole damn town. Apart from Mary Margaret, that is, but she’s always felt more like a sister, or even a mother sometimes than a friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders what Swan would think of them. He remembers how she’d smiled and squeezed his hand when he told her about David. He thinks she and Mary Margaret would get along. They both toe that line between sweet and fiery when challenged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian looks up from his menu to find David staring at him, a strange expression on his face. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I can’t put my finger on it. Did anything happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian clears his throat. “What do you mean?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did something happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He wants to laugh. Like did he pull a woman who might be a selkie out of the water and let her enchant her way into his life and reawaken his long-slumbering heart in a matter of days? Aye, something happened. But he can’t tell David that. He thinks of the pendant warm against his chest, hidden by the extra button he’d done up before heading out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Granny appears to take their order before David can prod any further. She doesn’t exactly smile at him, he’s never seen her smile at anyone he doesn’t think, but she offers him a tight nod of greeting. It’s not something he takes lightly. She’s one of the few people in this town who almost likes him. He’s sure he’s got Ruby to thank for that more than anything, especially considering how many times she’d thrown him out of this diner in his worst years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Granny had known his mother, and his brother, and despite her stern exterior, the woman has a soft heart. She’d liked him as a child in that severe grandmotherly way of hers, and she looks at Alice with that same fondness she’d once shown him. He can see the warning in her eyes on the rare occasion he can afford to take Alice out to eat. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you fuck this up. Don’t let that child’s world fall apart like yours did.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s another reason I wanted to see you today,” David says when they’ve nearly finished their food and exhausted all the regular topics. Killian raises a brow in question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I may have found grounds to have your record expunged.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian’s fingers curl into a fist, anxiety a cold heat in his veins both at the images that flash before his eyes, the blood, the sirens, the concrete walls, and at the fear that always comes with hope. His heart races as he leans in to look at the file David pulls from his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This guy who identified you - Nemo?” Killian’s blood freezes in his veins. Memories of the man’s eyes, of his blood on his hands, of the last words he’d spoken to him. “I found him. He lives on the mainland now. Killian, he told me </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was able to identify you.” His friend looks at him now with near disbelief. He knows why. But he’d made sure that bit was kept out of the police report for a reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Killian</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” David says again, the pleading, almost reprimanding tone clear in his voice this time. “He’s willing to testify on your behalf. Do you know how huge that is, how rare? For a victim to -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Killian says again. He won’t do it. None of it matters. Regardless of what he may have done afterwards, it doesn’t change what he did to the man, what he’d done to countless other men, the pain and the fear he’d pulled from them, the pleasure he’d gotten from it... He wouldn’t have that wiped away to paint him as someone any less vile than he’d been, regardless of whether his conscience had caught up with him or not. “It doesn’t change anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian…” David tries once more but he cuts him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter anyway, not unless we can prove Eloise is an unfit parent, right? That’s what you said. They’re not going to take Alice from her and give her to me unless we prove neglect or abuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true but -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s focus on that. She didn’t pick her up from school the last two days. Mary Margaret can attest to that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and she will if she needs to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fridge was empty too. Alice mentioned it when I asked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nods. “All of that is important but neglect is hard to prove. Have you...” he winces. “Have you thought anymore about having Alice testify?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he sighs. “No, I can’t do that to her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he wants his daughter safe at home with him, he won’t make her turn against her mother, won’t make her speak in front of a judge and voice the terrible way she’s been treated. A part of him believes she still maybe doesn’t realise how bad it is, that it’s not normal. He fears what learning that could do to her, not to mention the guilt she could carry with her for convincing a court to help take her away from her own mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nods. “I understand,” he says, though Killian can hear the disappointment in his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else can we do?” His friend scratches at the back of his neck. “What? Spit it out.” He almost laughs at the way David cringes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you thought about dating?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian pales. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dating</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just… we’ve done a lot to build up your character. You’ve got me and Mary Margaret and Archie on your side and that’s great. Archie and Mary Margaret are both well known and respected in the community, their word goes a long way. I’m sure we could get Granny to speak for you too. Hell, I arrested you a few times and I’m on your side,” he adds with a smile. Then it falters. “But your reputation in this town, it’s still…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he sighs. Many people still fear him, some pity or look down on him, the rest barely know he exists. He’s become nothing short of a recluse these past seven years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wouldn’t hurt to get to know people. Go out, be the person you are now, let others see </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Present yourself as a positive member of the community. And a healthy, stable relationship with a good woman wouldn’t hurt that.” Killian blinks and David takes his silence as encouragement. “Besides, you’re young… and not terrible looking,” he says with a nudge to his leg under the table. “I’m just, I’m tired of seeing you so lonely, so is Mary Margaret. You’re a good guy, Killian. You deserve to find someone and be happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite himself, David’s words bring him right back to the boat this afternoon, to Swan’s lips against his neck and his chest as she repeated nearly the same words, of her hands and her lips as she’d touched him and worshiped him on the deck of the Jolly. He can feel his ears burning hot and when he glances up, David is looking at him strangely again. Killian clears his throat, looking around for something to distract himself or his friend with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless…” David starts and Killian sets about gathering his plate, mumbling something about asking Granny to wrap up his leftovers. He doesn’t give up that easily though. “Unless you already met someone?” he asks, stopping Killian in his tracks as he stands from the booth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian can’t look at him. He can’t because he fears if he does, he’ll crack and tell him everything. David is not an easy man to keep secrets from. “It’s complicated,” he says, wincing at the shock on David’s face, his eyes wide in surprise and delight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who is she</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t… I can’t tell you,” he admits, words strained and his friend narrows his eyes. “Not yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this have anything to do with the long story you couldn’t tell us about the other night?” Killian nods, silently pleading with him to give him time. “Okay, I’ll back off, but I don’t know if Mary Margaret will be able to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell Mary Margaret about this,” he begs, exasperated, fingers and thumbs coming to his temples this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll do what I can but you know that woman has an ability to find things out on her own. Don’t think you can keep this from her for long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian sighs, dragging his hand over his face. “Gods help me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David laughs and then his face softens, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I guess that’s what’s different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words hold weight and he can see the fondness, the understanding with which his friend looks at him. What’s even more surprising is that he’s right. Killian hadn’t realized it until now, the lightness in his chest, the hopefulness that threatens to spread, the joy of having something to look forward to. He’s happier than he’s been in years, in decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” he says, looking away when he feels his ears burn again, unable to fully bite back the smile that pulls at his lips. “I am.” David doesn’t answer, but smiles broadly, bumping Killian’s arm with his fist. Killian rolls his eyes in embarrassment. “Do you want me to get Granny to wrap those up for you?” he asks, gesturing at the fries on his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” David says. “I’m going to eat all of these fries and you’re not going to tell my wife about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian laughs, offering him a small salute and heading off to the counter. He waves to one of the waitresses who nods and heads to the back and he waits for her to return with a little styrofoam box. There’s a man sitting at the counter a few stools away. He doesn’t recognize him but offers him a small nod in greeting. The man holds up his beer in return. Killian looks away but can still feel the man’s gaze on him, heavy and intense and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you, mate?” he offers. The man doesn’t react for a moment, his eyes focused, a frown marring his brow and an expression that Killian can’t read on his face, but one that leaves him unsettled. Finally he glances up, meeting his eyes and a friendly smile slips over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an interesting necklace you have there,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian tries not to let the adrenaline suddenly racing through his veins show, keeping his posture relaxed, his face neutral. He looks down at the necklace as though he’d forgotten he was wearing it, the delicate swan pendant having fallen out of his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s eyeing the pendant again. “Where’d you get it?” he asks, his voice pure casual curiosity but something about it tells Killian to lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old girlfriend,” he shrugs. “If you’re looking to get one for yourself, you should try one of the gift shops on the coast, they’re full of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man considers, taking a drink of his beer. “Do you guys get many tourists around here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “In the summer,” he says, wondering what he’s getting at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger nods. “Seen anyone around recently?” Killian’s tenses. When he doesn't answer, the man gives him another one of those easy smiles. “Just hoping to meet up with some other tourists while I’m here, have a drink.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian hums. “You staying long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just passing through.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strange time of year for traveling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess so. I suppose I’m looking for something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian watches him carefully, trying to decide if it’s a coincidence. He decides not to risk it. “Well,” he says, taking the box from the waitress and dumping his leftover onion rings inside, “enjoy your stay. And make sure you check out that gift shop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man raises his glass again in goodbye and Killian heads back to the table where David is just paying. He looks up at him and Killian can see the concern that immediately crosses his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kilian hesitates, takes a breath, and then nods. “Aye, let’s go shall we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can still feel the stranger’s eyes on him as they leave the diner. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huge, enormous, monsterous thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for your help as a beta on this one and for answering all my sporatic "Okay but what if..." messages when the plot bunnies hit.</p><p>Thank you as well to @the-darkdragonfly, @elizabeethan and @xhookswenchx for letting me brainstorm out loud to you guys and yell about the smut not working</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re alright?” David asks as he turns the truck out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Killian had reluctantly accepted the offer of a ride home when his friend had offered it, the need to get out of the diner as soon as possible overwhelming. But now sitting in the car with him, Killian can’t stop his mind from racing. Who was that man? Did he know Swan, whoever she was before he met her? Was it just a coincidence? It is an interesting necklace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your head at, man? You’re somewhere else.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Killian says. “I’m just… thinking about Eloise and Alice,” he lies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in a long time, that isn’t the most pressing thought at the forefront of his mind. He wonders if he should tell her. He doesn’t want to scare her, especially not if he’s blown this up in his mind. Perhaps her fear, her near paranoia has rubbed off on him. Strangers do pass through here. It’s not a huge tourist destination but with the regatta this weekend, it makes sense that some people would visit, either celebrating or mourning the end of summer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll figure it out,” David reassures him and it takes Killian a moment to remind himself what he’s talking about. “However long it takes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Aye, thanks, mate. Do you think you could let me out just up ahead?” he asks, nodding to the path through the fields that he can take to his place. “I think I need to walk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” David still looks concerned and casts a glance at the dark clouds pulling in. “I feel bad leaving you like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian nods. “I’ll be fine.” The other man stops the car but doesn’t look too thrilled to let him leave. He steps out of the truck but stops before shutting the door. “Listen, I promised Alice I’d take her to the regatta on Saturday. Why don’t I meet you and Mary Margaret there if you feel the need to check up on me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He means it as a joke but knows very well that his friend, if not his wife, is likely to show up and do just that. He’s not crazy about the way they watch him sometimes, the worry he can see so clearly in their eyes, the memories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s given them plenty of reason to be concerned. They’ve both seen him at his worst - not before Alice, but right after, when he’d first got sober and was able to see clearly for the first time in years. What he’d seen was… it wasn’t pretty. If he hadn’t had his daughter, if he’d been forced to face those demons without knowing that she needed him alive and sober, he’d have turned back to the bottle to escape them - or worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going?” David seems surprised. He’s usually one to avoid social gatherings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye. She wants us to take her to Granny’s after.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David smiles, surprised and careful. “Alright. We’ll see you then.” He can hear his friend’s words again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I guess something really has changed,” David says with a bit of a knowing twist to his smile and Killian feels his ears burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat. “Aye. See you then.” And with that he shuts the door and watches David drive off with a wave. As soon as his friend is out of sight though, Killian can’t help himself from casting a look around, both ways up the road, and back where they came. There’s nobody there. He’s being paranoid. But regardless, he decides to follow the street back to his house rather than the open shortcut through the fields - more places to hide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should tell her. Just in case. She may decide it’s nothing. And if he doesn’t tell her and she finds out, or if something happens… he’d never forgive himself. And then a thought crosses his mind that makes him stop short. What if she remembers him? What if this man is the missing piece of her memory? What if he’s someone important to her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian swallows against the lump in his throat, selfish, horrible fear overwhelming him. What if she remembers and she leaves? Swan may fear whoever’s coming for her, but what if the woman she was before doesn’t? What if she misses him? What if she loves him? His heart twists in his chest. A part of him, a part he hates, wants to keep it a secret if only to avoid losing her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if he can be as selfless as she deserves, if he can tell her even if it kills him because it means a chance at her happiness, even if it means the end of his. He sighs, running a hand through his hair and looking off towards the path that leads to his secluded little home. He has to tell her. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he has to tell her. If he wants to be the man she thinks he is, the one he’s hoping he can become, he can’t keep secrets from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking up to the house, he braces himself for whatever might come, whatever reaction she’ll have, the fear or the joy, the rememberance or the dismissal. He has no idea what to expect, no idea how this will or won’t change things between them. But what he doesn’t expect is to find the house empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan?” he calls, stepping into the kitchen and setting the bag of takeaway down on the counter. No answer. The bathroom door is open and he peeks in on his way to the bedroom, but she’s not there. He calls her name again as he knocks on the door to his room. When he’s met with only silence, he pushes it open and is met again with an empty room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s strange, he’s only known her a matter of days and he’s already grown so accustomed to her being here, to her existing in this space they’ve created for themselves, this little life they’ve started to build. To not have her in it feels wrong. Were it not for the stranger at the diner, he wouldn’t think much of it and he tries to convince himself he’s overthinking it even as his heart begins to race, the anxious cold settling in his blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heads outside and down the cliffs towards the shore, wondering if she’s gone for a swim, almost smiling at the thought of her protests against the cold. But when he reaches the beach, she’s nowhere to be found. He gazes out at the water for as long as he imagines she could stay under and then a little longer. He won’t let his mind wander to the dread that she went out too far, that she got too cold, swept away, just gone. Like Liam. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where is she</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And then a thought strikes him, an absurd, unbelievable, fantastical thought. Her seal coat. He knows that isn’t what they buried. It can’t have been - selkies aren’t real, they’re impossible. But the man in the diner today, he recognized the necklace; he was looking for something. What was it Alice said? If a selkie wanted to stay on land she had to bury her coat, she had to hide it from a selkie husband or he could come and take her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t rationalize what he’s doing as he rushes back up towards the house, practically sprinting as he makes his way into the woods behind in search of a magical object that could take her away. What if he did come? What if he took it and took her and left… What if she took it and left herself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She startles when he runs into the greenhouse, looking up from her task at him with wide eyes and he breathes for the first time in what feels like hours. “Killian?” She looks worried and he wants to laugh at the fact that she’s worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But he can’t, the relief and the lingering fear still rushing through him as he crosses the space between them and gathers her in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds her tightly to him, just needing to feel her, to confirm she’s here and won’t vanish like smoke through his fingers. After a moment, she drops the sticks she was holding and wraps her arms around his waist and asks if everything is okay. He laughs at his own insanity. He’d really believed it for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells her about the man at Granny’s, words spoken into her hair, too afraid to watch the expression that may cross her face. “And then I came back and I couldn’t find you and I- I’ve been letting Alice’s stories get to me.” He shakes his head and pulls back, brushing her hair back and cupping her face so he can finally look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan takes one of his wrists in her hand and turns her head to press a kiss to his palm. “I came out here to check on it,” she admits. “So maybe I’ve been letting Alice’s stories get to me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And was it still there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, taking both his hands from her cheeks and holding them in her own between them. “I didn’t look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - I was worried that if I looked at it I would remember something and… I didn’t know if I wanted to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “And what about now?” he asks, wondering if learning of the stranger in town has changed her mind. “Do you want to dig it up? See if you remember who you were?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates for a moment, staring at the corner of the greenhouse where it’s buried, a deep line creasing her brow. “No,” she says softly before looking at him. She reaches up and runs her fingers over the pendant against his chest. “Whoever that man was doesn’t matter. Nobody knows I’m here. I may not remember, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that there’s only bad in my past. I can feel it. I like my new memories,” she admits with a coy smile, and Killian’s sure she can feel his heart pounding under her hand. “And no stupid seal coat or selkie husband is going to decide if I get to stay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The determined set of her face makes him smile as he leans in to press his lips to hers, unable to find words to voice the relief that washes over him. She opens easily beneath him, letting him explore her mouth with his tongue and taste the salt-kissed heat of her lips. He wonders if maybe she did go swimming, or if maybe she just carries the sea with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers still rest over the pendent and he pulls back just enough to speak, smiling again when she tries to follow. “Did you want it back?” he asks, wondering if his encounter with the stranger has made her wary of him wearing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, drawing a finger across the metal and then into the neck of his shirt, toying with the button. “No. But maybe you need to start wearing your sweaters again so it won’t fall out for everyone to see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would, but this sea creature snuck into my room and stole them all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “I suppose you can have some of them back. I do like you in them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you?” he asks, impressed at how steady his voice sounds even as his heart races and his blood sings for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, she slides her hand up around the back of his neck and nods before rising on her toes to speak against his lips. “I like you out of them too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s relieved when she kisses him before he can answer, sure that whatever he would have managed to say would have been a stuttering, jumbled mess as he tried to make sense of the fact she likes him in or out of anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does his best to push back the doubt that creeps along the edges of his mind, the disbelief that someone like her could want anything to do with him. Even as he feels her lips against his own and traces the lines of her back, her body warm and solid and </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his hands, he expects her to vanish, to turn to smoke and mist in his hands and leave him with nothing but the vague memory of the dream she must be. It’s the only way that he can make sense of any of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she says, hands fisting in the fabric of his collar and pulling back. She traces a finger along the dimple in his chin as she asks, “where’d you go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “Nowhere. I just… Sometimes I still find this hard to believe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, you,” he says, reaching up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. “The siren that I pulled out of my net and for some reason I can’t fathom has chosen this sad little cottage over the vastness of the whole bloody sea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m real,” she insists, nudging him a little and then pulling him back to emphasize her point. “And I’m here.” She flattens her hand over his chest, one finger toying with the pendant there, eyes fixed on it as she speaks. “And I didn’t choose this cottage, I chose the man inside of it.” There’s a long, heavy pause where Killian is sure she must be able to feel his heart pounding against her palm, trying to make its way into her hand where it belongs. “Stop waiting for me to leave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not -” he starts, but she meets his gaze and his words catch in his throat because she’s right. And the way she’s looking at him, with a ghost of hurt in her eyes, it breaks his heart. He’s spent every day expecting her to disappear from his life as suddenly as she’d come into it, to vanish with the tide like all the other beautiful things that have washed up on shore only to be stolen back by the greedy sea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “All of this has been a little hard to believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Swan demands, growing frustrated. “Why am I so unbelievable to you? Why is it so unbelievable that someone would choose you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because my life has been nothing but a series of wasted and disappointed hopes for as long as I can remember,” he admits. “My mother, Liam, Alice… I’ve not been lucky enough to hold on to the people I love. I don’t believe fairy tales, Swan. I don’t think I get a happy ending.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression softens, understanding and sadness in her eyes and something else that he’s too afraid to name. “Have you considered,” she says, reaching to trace the line of his cheek and the curve of his jaw the way she had that first night. “That maybe you’re mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling swells in his chest so suddenly that it overwhelms him, fills the space until it has no more room left to grow and demands to be let out. He slants his mouth over hers, pulling her in and holding her so tightly against him that he can feel the desire and the hope and the love pouring out of him and into her. The way she grabs hold of his face and presses herself even closer makes him think she feels it too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d not let himself believe it, not let himself even entertain the thought since he was old enough to think it that he could be enough for someone, that he could be what they wanted. And for it to be someone like her, someone kind and strong who makes him smile and laugh more than he has in years, someone who sees the good in the world even where nobody else would even bother to look…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He deepens the kiss, appreciating the way her moan reverberates through his chest as he backs her up until she’s pressed against one of the beams that was once meant to hold up the greenhouse. The bare bones of the crumbling structure suddenly don’t feel quite so hopeless; the fact that they’re still standing after all these years instead a promise of something beautiful to come if he can bring himself to see it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He means to ask her what she’d been doing out here when he found her with armfulls of sticks and leaves, but her tongue slides against his and suddenly he finds himself devoid of any thought apart from the way her back arches into him when his hand finds her breast through the layers of wool she’s wrapped herself in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips have only just followed the curve of her jaw to her neck, his free hand tracing the goosebumps up her thigh when the first crack of thunder splits the air, the electricity in the atmosphere around them rivaled by the sparks that ignite on his skin everywhere it touches hers. Killian mumbles that maybe they should go inside against her collarbone but she shakes her head, one hand fisting in his hair as the other slides into his open shirt, nails digging into his back as his lips travel lower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The roll of thunder resounds again and Killian looks up as the evening sky is streaked blinding white. When he looks back at Swan she’s watching him, panting, lips red and eyes growing as dark as the sky and no less charged. When the lightning flashes again she pulls him in for a searing kiss and he’d swear they’d been struck for the heat that rages through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers trace the lines of his chest and down his stomach and he’s too distracted by her teeth catching his lip and her tongue soothing it gently before seeking his own that he’s caught off guard by the feel of her fingers around him. A choked cry escapes him and she smiles against his mouth as her hand begins a slow slide along the length of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand finds purchase on the beam above her, his head falling back in pleasure as she tightens her grip. She uses the opportunity to trail her mouth and her tongue along the line of his jaw to that spot behind his ear that has his nails digging into the wood. Every inch of him is on fire, his entire world centered on her hand and her lips as his moans and gasps are lost to the cracks and rumblings of the storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain breaks around them, torrential and relentless in a single, heavy curtain that soaks them through in an instant. He curses, the rain and her touch making him shiver and he knows they should go inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to move right now if he tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs her face in his hand, sliding his lips over hers in a messy, desperate pressing together of open mouths and her moan matches his own as she works him faster, his fingers fisting in her hair as hers do the same. He thinks he could be struck down right now and not care, lost in the press of her wet body against his, the cold erupting on his skin a stark contrast to the fire racing in his blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth falls from hers as a curse leaves him, broken and desperate and so close. She drags his lips back to hers though, slick and wet with rain as she swallows every moan and sigh and swear she pulls from him. Killian’s arms begin to tremble, every muscle in his body tensing as he teeters on the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine,” she whispers, the sound nearly drowned out by the roar of the storm around them. “You’re mine,” breathed into his lungs and he nods, repeating it back to her before the sky flashes white and he comes apart in her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain continues to soak through their clothes, falling in heavy sheets as he catches his breath. Pushing the wet strands of her hair out of her face he pauses, watching the water run over her skin and making her look every inch the siren she is. He smiles, blinking against the downpour before he leans in to capture her lips. He’s hers. He’s hers completely for as long as she wants him and just maybe, she could be his too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thunder breaks the air again, the rain becoming so heavy that he fears they may drown if they stand in it much longer. Swan lets out a laughing shriek at the turn in the weather, taking his hand and pulling him along behind her as she runs back towards the cottage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They push their way through the front door, dripping puddles onto the kitchen floor. She does her best to push her hair back but it’s useless, clinging to her cheeks in wet ropes. She reaches for him instead, brushing his sopping too-long strands away from his face and causing him to shiver when the water drips from it down the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian can see her trembling from the cold as well, even as a laugh still clings to her blue lips. He rubs her arms, trying to work some heat back into her as he tells her she should probably get out of her wet clothes. Swan raises a brow at him, a smirk pulling at her mouth and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckles. “I just meant we should get warm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brow stays raised as she glances towards the bathroom. “Well, you do have an awfully big tub,” she points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I do,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her temple. He reaches for the blanket she left bunched up on the couch and wraps it around her snugly before crossing to the other side of the room, trailing wet footprints across the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she joins him, the tub is half full and she sits beside him on the ledge as the water rises. She dips her fingers into the bath and lets out a sigh at the heat, another shiver running through her. He wishes he had something besides Alice’s bubble bath to add to the water, but he’s never much been one for soaking. He spends enough time wet on the water getting lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t need to seek out opportunities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the room begins to be filled with the smell of watermelon, her fingers trail across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake. She starts to hum, another one of those lovely haunting melodies he doesn’t recognize. He smiles to himself as he half expects fish to materialize in his bathtub, or perhaps for the water to begin to glow or for webs to appear between her fingers. But of course, none of that happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he smiles, shaking his head. He turns the faucet off when the tub is full enough. “There you are,” he says, standing and helping her to her feet, taking the blanket from her shoulders and heading for the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops him with a hand on his arm. “You’re not joining me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I didn’t…” he starts, his heart pounding at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really is an awfully big tub,” she reminds him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -” he starts again because he feels he should protest out of some quickly dying sense of chivalry and let her have her privacy, but then she’s pushing his already open shirt from his shoulders and the words die on his lips. It hits the floor with a heavy, wet sound and she smiles, pressing her lips to his collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian pulls her sweater over her head, letting it land beside his shirt and toys with the hem of her dress, making a point to enjoy the chance he now has to undress her slowly, the last and only time having been frantic and desperate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, had that only been last night?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wonders. It feels like an eternity ago now. But he sees the goosebumps breaking out over her arms and pulls the dress over her head too, her hair falling in twisting wet ropes around her shoulders and her naked breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows at the sight of her, even as he tries not to let his gaze wander down to her nipples peaked by the cold, Liam’s ring resting between them. She catches him and smiles smugly, taking his hands and bringing them to her hips in a not so subtle hint. He rids her of her last piece of clothing, hands shaking as he pushes them down her legs and she reaches for his jeans, his belt still undone from earlier and she relieves him of the last of his clothes as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swan accepts the hand he offers her and lets him help her into the tub but refuses to let go as she steps in, pulling him in after her. Killian hisses as the near scalding heat while she lets out an incredibly unfair sound as she sinks into the water, letting it swallow her until only her head is above the surface, chin dipping into the bubbles and cheeks flushing pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settles across from her and it takes him a moment of awkward fumbling and shifting before she tangles her legs with his, giving his hand a squeeze and he lets himself relax. They take a moment to let the water chase the chill from their bones before she speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she says and he raises a brow in question. “For telling me about the man in the diner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a breath. “It was the right thing to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, but you didn’t have to and you did anyway. It meant something.” He can feel his cheeks heating and he hopes she’ll assume it’s from the water. He’s not used to being thanked. She cocks her head at him when he doesn’t answer. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly and he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable. And that’s saying something,” she adds, nudging his side playfully with her toes. He catches her foot in his hand and she squeals, giggling and trying to squirm away as he runs his thumb along the arch. He raises his brows in pleasant surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ticklish. That’s good to know.” His smile is slow and her eyes widen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget that information right now,” she warns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian chuckles. “And if I don’t?” he challenges, keeping a firm hold on her foot, thumb just barely ghosting over the bottom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already warned you about a selkie’s wrath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums, making a show of contemplating her threat before his hand slides along her calf, his free hand mirroring the touch on her other leg. He hooks both hands below her knees and yanks her to him. She squeaks, water spilling over the edge of the tub as he drags her to his end, settling her legs on either side of his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I quite fancy your wrath, actually,” he says, smiling as she grabs onto his shoulders to keep steady, ankles crossing behind his back. He lets his hands wander freely along her sides and her back, searching for new places that make her squirm as he leans in and captures her lips with his own. His tongue slides lazily and teasingly against hers as she presses herself flush against him, breasts flattening against his chest, the heat of her skin only second to the steaming water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She begins squirming in his lap for a whole different reason, moaning softly into his mouth under his ministrations. His touch is as lazy as his kiss, sliding between them to trace slow circles around her nipple, smiling against the gasp she presses to his lips. He trails a hand over the curve of her backside, pulling her ever so slightly closer before his fingers slip between her legs to trace more slow circles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not long before she’s writhing above him, hips rocking in tandem with the push and pull of his fingers. Water sloshes over the edge of the bath as her back arches and her mouth falls open in a silent cry that grows until the sounds of her moans and gasps and pleas fill his ears. He leans forward to drag his tongue over the tip of her breast and her hand fists in his hair, bubbles still clinging to her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of his name falling from her lips has him desperate to see her tumble over that edge, to see the way her face flushes and to feel her tug at his hair and tighten around his fingers. He wants to hear his name carried on the wind of her voice as she falls apart under his touch, to see her glowing and wild as the creature of storms and seas that she is, and then soft and pliant in his arms as the woman he loves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He works her faster, steady and constant, following the rhythm of her body and whispering words of praise against her skin between the kisses and licks and bites he lavishes on her flesh. And then she’s there, shuddering in his arms and crying out a broken </span>
  <em>
    <span>Killian</span>
  </em>
  <span> before she falls boneless against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breath is warm against his neck as his fingers follow the line of her spine, stroking soothingly as she clings to him, small tremors rippling through her as she catches her breath. He presses a kiss to her ear, the only spot he can reach and she sighs a sated little sound before straightening her legs so she can lay against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and his own come around her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lie together, wrapped around one another other until the water starts to grow cold. But rather than leave, Swan merely reaches back to turn on the faucet, letting scalding water warm the bath once more. He takes the opportunity to trace the droplets that cling to her skin, sliding down over her breasts towards her navel before disappearing below the surface. Once the bath's heated to her liking, she stretches out above him again, tangling their legs and folding her hands on his chest, propping her chin on them and offering him a very satisfied smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> a selkie,” she muses. “Because I could stay here in the water with you doing that for ages.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, pleased and just a little smug and brushes his thumb over her cheek. She turns her face to kiss his palm and then presses another to his sternum before resting her head against his shoulder and tracing patterns across his chest. He cards his fingers through her still damp hair and pulls another one of those lovely sounds from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan?” he asks after a moment, remembering the question he’d meant to ask her before they’d gotten distracted in the most agreeable way. She hums. “What were you doing out in the greenhouse?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cleaning,” she says simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cleaning?” Killian frowns, craning his head to look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. “I think if we fixed it up it could be really beautiful. It just needs a little love. I got the impression… maybe you wanted that too.” He doesn’t know what makes his heart race more, the fact that she says ‘we’ or the fact that she knew somehow, without him even telling her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, cupping her face so he can lift her mouth to his; his kiss chaste, a thank you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles, nudging his nose with her own and then brushing her lips against his. “Good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When their skin has started to go pruney and the water is starting to chill once more, they finally drag themselves from the tub, Killian wrapping her in the softest towel he owns before tying one around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dress, Swan stealing another of his shirts that falls just to her thighs and causes his eyes to drift every few seconds to the miles of legs she leaves on display as he reheats the leftovers he brought back from Granny’s. They end up curled on the sofa by the fire as the night grows colder around them, Swan balancing the styrofoam box on her lap as she inspects the contents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Granny’s makes the best onion rings in town,” he tells her. He’d brought them home thinking she might like them - if her penchant for the same food as his seven year old is anything to go by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks one up and takes a bite, then lets out an obscene moan and pops the whole thing into her mouth. “Oh my god,” she says, reaching for another. She pauses, eyes snapping up to him and pulling the box to her chest. “I’m sorry. I can’t share these,” she tells him and he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all yours, love,” he promises and watches in near amazement as she devours the whole box in minutes. He makes a note to pick more up next time he’s in town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she says, leaning across the couch to steal a kiss. He laughs against her, mumbling that she tastes like onion rings and she responds by sliding her tongue into his mouth and making him laugh harder even as he kisses her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls back, watching him carefully as he looks at her with what he’s sure is an absolutely ridiculous smile on his face. He raises a questioning brow at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kind of beautiful,” she says simply and Killian is suddenly all too aware of his limbs and completely unaware of what to do with them. He can feel his face heating as he uses the excuse of putting the styrofoam box on the table next to him to avoid her gaze. “Don’t,” she says, catching his cheek in her hand and turning his face to her. “You are. And the fact that you don’t know it is insane.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat, scratching awkwardly behind his ear as he thanks her because he doesn’t know what else to do. “There,” she says mirthfully. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He rolls his eyes but she kisses him and stops his self-deprecating comment before it can even fully form itself in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her kiss is sweet but before she can pull back, he catches the back of her neck, holding her to him and deepening it. She thinks he’s beautiful. She thinks he’s good. She thinks he’s her bloody happy ending. He hoists her into his lap as he explores her mouth and the lines of her body in an attempt to hold onto this thing between them, to find in her whatever it is she sees in him and find some way to see it too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s pliant and eager under his touch, her shirt discarded quickly and her laugh echoing in his ears as he lifts her in his arms only to set her down on the rug before the fire, the sofa too small and cramped to ravish her the way he wants to. His mouth follows every curve and valley of her, every line tasted and kissed until his lips are at the inside of her knee and she’s demanding he get on with it already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes pity on her, trailing open mouthed kisses along her thigh to her center, licking her slowly and purposefully and relishing in the way her hips buck against him. He devours her with lips and teeth and tongue, the taste of her like the sea that brought her to him. It overwhelms his senses as his world narrows to her, to the way she responds to him and begs him and arches off the rug when he pushes his tongue inside of her, to the way her fingers fist in his hair when he sucks on that sensitive bundle of nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not long before she’s riding his mouth as she had his fingers, her cries growing louder, filling the room. He loops his arms around her thighs, drawing her in closer and holding her steady as he pulls her clit into his mouth, sucking and flicking at it with his tongue until she shatters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thighs are still locked on either side of his head, her body still shaking as he continues his onslaught, desperate to bring her over the edge once more. That mad frenzie that overtakes him when he has her like this, when he’s so desperate to keep her here and to feel her against him lest she be stolen away, rears its head again as he works her frantically towards another peak. Her cries are broken sobs and stuttered gasps as he sucks and nips at her heat until he tastes her release on his tongue a second time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her whimpers and pants as he works her down turn into an exhausted laugh and he finally places a last kiss to her thigh and extracts himself from between her legs. He’s never seen anything as mesmerizing as the woman he loves and who might love him laying bare and limp with pleasure before the fire, a sated, dreamy smile on her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises a weak hand, reaching for him and he lays down with her, turning on his side so he can watch her. His fingers trace idle patterns over her stomach and breasts and she hums, content, tired, eyes fluttering closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if seven years of this will be enough,” she mumbles and he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss above her navel. He knows it won’t be enough. It will never be enough. He wants the happily ever after, the forever and always, and if that’s what she wants too then he damn well intends to have it. Even if he has to bury her bloody seal coat a thousand times, he will, if only for one more moment like this.</span>
</p>
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